


Wildflowers

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Cowboy Castiel, Cowboy Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, MCD IS NOT DEAN OR CAS, Sonny's Home For Boys (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Always filled with adventure and drive, Deans mother Mary sets him up to spend the summer at a boy's home that doubles as an operational farm. Ready to learn the tools of the trade, Dean is excited about his upcoming cowboy life. His father, John, is less than impressed by Dean's flights of fancy; it's behind his back that Mary makes arrangements for Dean to spend his summer at grandma and grandpa's so he can work on the neighboring farm.The boys at the farm have similar backgrounds, but none of them are the hooligans that Dean imagined. The head boy, Castiel, is a bit broody, a bit dry, but all-knowing and all-handsome. He teaches Dean the ropes and the how-to's, Dean getting lost in the peacefulness of the valley and finding satisfaction in all of the hard work he puts in.When Dean's life takes an unexpected turn, he tries to put the peace behind him, driving himself to success instead. A ghost from his past returns, bringing with him wildflowers, rolling hills, and buttery soft sunshine.**MCD IS NOT DEAN OR CASTIEL**
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 104
Kudos: 203





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ***PLEASE READ***  
>  technically the death could be considered "minor character death" but that felt like an injustice to the character.  
> there is no on-screen abuse, but some of it is "shown" or explained in detail and happens to both an adult and children. please take care of yourself and understand that this story may have some triggering content. there might be a scene or two in which the characters say things that could be construed as homophobia.  
> ultimately, it has a happy ending.  
> the version of mary depicted in this story is basically how i envisioned she would be living a "normal" life. also, i don't like canon mary, so this is how i choose to write her.  
> this story is complete and unedited. all mistakes are mine.

In 1993, Mary Winchester took note of her eldest son's interests. They varied greatly; he took inspiration from his father and liked to learn his way around their classic Chevy Impala, though it seemed that was the beginning and end of their relationship. He enjoyed spending time with Mary in the kitchen and quickly learned all of her 'secret recipes', though none of them were as sweet as the look in Dean's eye when she disclosed that he and only he would carry on her baking torch. He adored his little brother, Sam, and though Dean was set to enter his Freshman year of high school little Sammy was still the apple of his eye- and so, Dean did nearly everything his little brother wanted him to.

One Spring day, Mary and Dean went to visit Mary's parents. They had a stretch of land far removed from the city, a sweet ranch house perched on a hilltop with the most gorgeous view of the river. The Campbells didn't have much in possessions, but their property was vast, and Dean and little Sammy enjoyed playing in the meadows and splashing in the creek.

On this particular visit, Mary walked Dean along the fence line of the property. It was one of their favorite things to do up here, aside from picking the fresh fruit from the small orchard her parents kept. The neighbors had more grassland, suited well for their four horses and llama, offering beautiful scenery with the water in the distance.

"How come grandma and grandpa don't have horses?" Dean asked. The little tweed in his hand bent and broke as he poked it along every wooden fence post they passed.

"Livestock requires a lot of time and energy," Mary said. She watched Dean's gaze go out towards the horses, thoughtful and bright. "Grandma and grandpa live out here so they can enjoy the peace. We are the ones who pick all of their fruit, after all."

"Horses are cool," Dean said in the flippant-but-pointed way that only teenagers could achieve.

Knowing the appropriate response, Mary asked, "Do you like horses?"

They came to a natural stop in the fence line clear of bushes and brush. Dean looked at the grazing animals, chewed his lip, and looked as though he didn't want to say anything at all. As he grew older it became harder to communicate with her son. Mary knew this was because of puberty, not any sort of rudeness. She very patiently waited for him to decide, turning her gaze from his sun sweet freckles to also look at the beautiful animals.

"I do," Dean finally mumbled. He dropped the little tweed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Cowboys are cool."

"They are," Mary agreed with a smile and a hum. "Clint Eastwood is quite the cowboy, isn't he?"

" _Yes_ -" Dean accidentally gushed, then caught himself, clearing his throat and opting for an apathetic shrug. "Westerns are cool an' all. I just…" Again, he thoughtfully chewed his lip. Holding her hair back from her face as the wind picked up, Mary continued to wait patiently. The most important thing a parent could do for their child was to listen when they had something to say. "The horses… they're pretty."

"Would you like to pet one?"

Dean shot her a slightly alarmed, but curious look. "Can we?"

Mary nodded, then shrugged as she looked out over the pasture. "If one comes when we call, that means it's friendly enough to pet, I think."

Eagerly, Dean's posture straightened. Mary held out a hand to the horses who grazed fifty feet away, their ears pricked at the sound of human voices.

Clicking her teeth, Mary called, "Here! Here boy! Come on!" 

A few horses swished their tails in interest. Most of them went back to grazing, though one kept its eyes on Mary, ears forward.

"That's it!" Mary encouraged. "Come here!"

Very slowly the Buckskin horse, with its tan coat and black mane, started to amble over. As it got closer the rest of its legs were visible, showing off beautiful black boots fading up to its knees. Mary couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl at this angle, but it didn't matter. Next to her, Dean was frozen, his hands stuck in his pockets and his eyes wide. The horse stopped about five feet away, looking at the humans contemplatively.

"Here…" Dean spoke up, clearing his throat and then mimicking Mary, holding out a hand. "Here boy. We won't hurt you."

The horse snuffled loudly. The noise startled Dean a bit, causing Mary to laugh. Covering her mouth, she pointedly looked away from the glare she was receiving, before holding out her hand again.

"Horses are kind of like dogs. They like being talked to and can even know their name. Most of them know basic commands."

"Good boy," Dean caught on to what Mary was inferring immediately. "You're pretty, huh? Come here and let me pet you, huh?"

Again, the horse looked between them, its tail flicking behind its body. Ultimately it decided they weren't worth its time, so it turned and headed back towards its buddies, unbothered.

But oh, the heartbreak on Dean's face.

"Next time let's bring it a treat," Mary suggested, reaching to squeeze Dean's shoulder warmly.

Schooling his facial expression, Dean smiled up at Mary. "Yeah- kinda rude to try and talk to him and not have a gift."

She then squeezed both of his shoulders, bringing him in for a kiss. Oh, her boy was already as tall as her. All the same, he melted into her embrace and took the kiss to his forehead with a fragile child's grace.

Her sweet baby boy.

\--

Three weeks later, Dean shuffled into the kitchen. Mary was on the phone with her mother doing their weekly chat; she noticed Dean hovering in the doorway, then untangled the phone cord from her fingers to wave him in.

"Mom," Mary said, cutting her mother off from rambling about her garden. "I was wondering if you have the neighbor's number? The one with the horses and the llama."

"Oh, yes," mom said emphatically. "Such a nice man, Sonny. That farm is actually a-" she dropped her voice dramatically, "-boy's home, you know. For the troubled youth." She returned her voice to it's normal volume. "I have his number here. What do you want to talk to him about?"

Dean couldn't hear mom's side of the conversation, so Mary kept a twinkle in her eye when she saw the obvious interest in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm going to give him a call to see if he would like any volunteer help."

Immediately Dean raised on the balls of his feet, fists clenched in front of him in excited, hopeful glee.

"Dean's not in trouble is he?" Mom asked immediately.

Laughing, Mary shook her head. "Actually for once, no. He's interested in knowing how a farm operates and he already declined to do sports this summer - you know how moody teenagers can be - so he's got all this free time."

"If Sonny agrees, he'll probably want Dean on multiple days. If it's alright with him, tell Dean he's more than welcome to stay over at our house if he needs to. It'll save you gas, honey, what with money being tight…" she trailed off.

Mary held back a sigh. Of course, her mother meant well, but since John had been laid off last month, her mother's concern had only intensified. "I think it will be good for Dean to get out of the house. Maybe when Sammy isn't at camp he can come help out too."

"Oooh I love those boys," mom gushed. "Let me know what Sonny says!"

"Bye, mom."

"Goodbye, baby."

Walking over to the wall to hang up the phone, Mary waited until the last possible second before turning around to face Dean, feigning indifference as she shrugged and asked, "Would you like to help out at Sonny's farm if he needs you?"

"Yes!" Dean nearly yelled. He launched himself at Mary, nearly knocking her off her feet.

Laughing, she hugged him tightly. Kissing his head, she murmured softly, "Best not to let dad know yet, ok? Let's make sure this can happen before we put all our eggs in one basket."

Nodding into her breast, Dean pulled back to kiss her on the cheek. "Love you, ma."

She swatted him on the rear lovingly before pushing him out of the kitchen. "Go get your brother and wash up for dinner."

Alone in the kitchen, Mary leaned against the chipped formica counter. Bracing herself with one hand, she covered her mouth with the other, staring idly at the floor as she tried to contain the butterflies swelling within. This would be so good for Dean- something he _wanted_ to do.

Even if Sonny said yes, the person who needed the most convincing… was John.

\--

Of course, Sonny said yes without even needing to hear Mary's explanation or reasoning. 

"I'll never turn down a lady and her kids, ma'am. I run a boy's home but there aren't any hooligans here. I'll be happy to have Dean on in the week and even Sam when he's free. Lotta the boys I have don't got a choice on being here. But that doesn't mean I won't help the ones who do."

Sonny's kindness gripped Mary. 

"Thank you, Sonny. With summer coming and Dean telling us he didn't want to do any sports I knew I didn't want him around…" she cleared her throat, twisting the phone cord around her finger. "He'll be there the first Monday morning of summer. I'm sure he'll let you know if and when Sam is coming, too."

"Alright, Mrs. Winchester," Sonny said amiably. His kind voice then said, "This isn't just a boy's home, now remember. It's anyone's home. You come by any time you feel like."

Hearing the invitation for its intention had Mary sagging against the wall with gratitude. "Thank you, Sonny."

When she hung up the phone, silence echoed. This was Dean's last week of school, which meant he'd be out at the Campbell house on Sunday to get settled in. However, Mary had yet to tell John of the arrangements. 

It had been a fight between Dean and John that led to Dean declaring he didn't want to do summer sports. It had come as a surprising blow to his father, who had ran summer sports like boot camp endlessly every year since Dean could play t-ball. Mary couldn't remember what started the fight, but she knew how it ended: Dean staying at Garth's house for an entire weekend while Mary tried to tend to John's ego.

That weekend had been the worst since John got laid off. Dean was safe where he had gone and Sam, sweet Sam was fairly oblivious to anything that wasn't covered in mud or a book, so he'd been low maintenance. It took John the entire weekend to come around and when he did, he apologized gruffly, then didn't say another word about Dean's summer preferences. 

Dean had gotten away with a handprint on his ass and Mary a five-finger bruise on her shoulder, but they were well off, considering. 

Mary was apprehensive about telling John that Dean would basically be away all summer, only home for the weekends - should he decide to come back at all. On the one hand, John fully believed in a young man being put to work. On the other hand, John would prefer it be on his own terms.

Wiping her hands on the skirt of her dress, Mary decided that tonight had to be the night. Dean and John would learn at the same time and that, hopefully, would soften the blow.

Then again, it was always hard to tell.

\-- 

Of course, she burned the pot roast. Sitting at the quaint table in their kitchen, heads bowed for grace, Mary wrung her hands in her lap as Sam dutifully recited the Lord's prayer. John's eyes weren't closed. He was staring at the charred imitation of food on his plate, jaw tense and brows furrowed. The mashed potatoes had been fine along with the veggies, but those alone wouldn't constitute as a full dinner for John Winchester.

"Amen!" Sam said happily.

"Amen, baby," Mary said, reaching out to gently squeeze Sam's wrist. Looking around the table, she decided to break the tense silence. No better time than the present, she supposed. Couldn't get much worse than burnt dinner. "So: I got some news today."

"The Roadhouse delivers?" John said facetiously, poking at his lump of burnt meat.

Going with the joke, Mary chuckled lightly. "No, but we should pass the message along to Ellen." She turned shining eyes to Dean, who immediately perked. "Mom and dad's neighbor, Sonny, said he'd like to have Dean's help over the summer on the ranch."

Silence.

Even Sam tensed, looking sharply at Mary, big expressive eyes clouded in worry.

Very deliberately, John set down his utensils. "When did this big idea happen?" He asked his plate. Oh, she misses his eyes and his sweeping lashes.

"Last time Dean and I were at mom and dad's," Mary explained, keeping her tone light and interested. She sent Dean a clear, meaningful look, then continued talking. "Mom said he's always looking for help. He even has some volunteers there now."

"He a pervert?"

"Wha- John, no!" Mary exclaimed, scandalized. "It's a boy's home!"

More silence. Dread dropped like an anvil in Mary's gut. John finally raised his gaze, honey brown eyes like steel as he regarded his wife. Still handsome as ever, he takes her breath away in a different way, now. "Why, Mary, are you sendin' my son off to a boy's home?"

"He's _volunteering_ -"

"And what does Dean say? He even _want_ to go?"

Mary cut a glance at Dean, willing him to be quiet but oh, he is his mother's son.

"I saw his horses," Dean said with a straight spine and an even gaze. "I always have thought horses are cool and wondered what it would be like to tend to them."

"Oh," John scowled, slapping his hand on the table. Mary let out a startled "Oh!" as he continued with, "You on that cowboy shit again? C'mon Dean that's _kid_ stuff. You weren't born in the wild west and you're not gonna choose that as a career, son."

"I could learn-" Dean objected.

"What's it gonna be next year, huh? Space camp? Musical theater?" John turned his attention to Mary. "What's this gonna cost? Shit, Mary, the boy's gonna need clothes and boots and whatever else those _cowboys_ need."

"Sonny said he would take care of all of that," Mary said, keeping her voice even.

"So he can be a charity case like the other kids in there? Come on, Mary, have some dignity!" 

Feeling the anxiety and the frustration boiling within her, Mary slapped a hand down on the table and yelled, "He is going and that is _final_! Sam will be going too when he's done at camp!" 

John looked at Mary, stunned at her outburst. Anxious butterflies turned her limbs, toes, and fingers jittery, but she held them down, glaring at her husband. The past few months of his spiral, John had been angry, broody, and snappish. Mary had let him be, at first because she sympathized with his being laid off, and then because it morphed into a survival instinct. She was not an easily cowed woman, Mary Winchester. But for the sake of her children, she had chosen to wait it out for the past month until she got the opportunity to move them out of the blast zone. 

Now, it was summer.

Now, she snapped.

"They will spend the summer with grandma and grandpa and you, John Winchester, are going to get off _your_ ass and get a fucking job!" She stood up, starting to gather the untouched plates of their ruined dinner. The boys all sat in shocked silence, eyes on the table as she cleaned up. "I am going to order a pizza, you are going to eat it, and in the morning if your boots aren't on the pavement your ass will be."

The dishes clattered in the sink, a few of them breaking. Now that the initial wave of anger had passed, those jittery butterflies returned, swarming back into her veins with a vengeance. She hadn't stood up to John the entire time he’s been laid off, but watching him put his negativity on something Dean was obviously excited about was the last straw.

The boys, smartly, got up from the table and cleared the kitchen. John stayed at the table, hands in his lap, clearly trying to work through what happened. Mary went back to the table to collect the rest of the dishes, fingers trembling, hair and dress swishing with her jerky movements. She had nothing else to say. If John had anything on his mind, she would listen, but she was done with his excuses.

As she ran the hot water and pulled the phone off of the wall to dial the pizza parlor, she saw John slip out the back door. Feeling some tension bleed from her, she ordered the pizza on autopilot and then leaned against the wall, face first, the phone receiver held loosely in her hand down at her side.

"Ma?" Came Dean's soft, beautiful voice. She could hear his socked feet moving across the tile floor, then felt his gentle fingers pull the phone out of her hand so he could hang it up. "I don't gotta go to Sonny's."

Taking in a deep breath, Mary pulled away from the wall. Dean's eyes, so much more beautiful than her own, were filled with grief and worry and emotions far beyond his fourteen years. "Oh," she tsked, cupping his face in her palms. She brushed her thumb across the adorable bend in his nose, chasing freckles and offering a small, reserved smile. "No, honey. Sonny is happy to have you. Grandpa and grandma are excited for you to stay with them." Dean looked about to protest, so she drew him in to kiss his lips softly. "You have a dream, Dean. It's my job to protect it."

His eyes bright with unshed, empathetic tears, he nodded. "Ok, mom."

\--

Meeting Sonny was an absolute pleasure. He was perhaps a decade older than Mary, filled with infinite knowledge and patience. He welcomed Dean into his home on Sunday afternoon with a firm handshake and pat to the back, a 'grown up' greeting if Dean had ever had one. He had a softer shake for Mary, a warmth in his eyes that comforted her to the core. She knew right away her boy would be in good hands.

The farmhouse was beautiful. It was in a little bit of disrepair, though lovingly tended with parts of the wall replastered and wallpaper stretched into place. The front foyer and parlor were perfect for guests, the rest of the main floor clearly intended for gatherings. Sonny explained that he and the boys all had rooms upstairs, and if Dean were ever inclined, he had a room up there as well. Even knowing this was a boy’s home, Mary felt… safe, like she was wrapped up in a big hug. There was no negativity or badness here. 

Settling on the chairs and couch in the parlor, Sonny sent both Mary and Dean a kind smile. 

"I'll tell you about my expectations and your responsibilities," he said, "and when I'm done if it seems to be too much, I'll let you on your way. But if it sounds like a good fit, I'll have you here at six a.m. sharp tomorrow, ok?"

Dean nodded, "Yes, sir." His fingers clenched and unclenched in his lap, and Mary knew he was bound and determined to prove himself here- not for anyone's sake but his own.

"First things first, you show up at six and you eat breakfast with us. You're breaking your back for me, least I can do is keep ya fed, but there will be more spoils the more you work. Anyway, breakfast is at six, then your work day starts at seven. Cas'll have more of a breakdown for you, but you do stable work until eleven or so. Clean all the stalls, shovel all the crap, and get the horses and llama started for the day. That means their breakfast, medicine if one of 'em needs it, and some low maintenance grooming. Lunch is at eleven, or whenever you're done with that.

"At around noon it's maintenance work. Every day you do a walk of the perimeter fence line to make sure there are no broken spots. If you come across a broken line or post, you make note of it, then you get the supplies to fix it. You check the stables, the equipment, and anything else that might be breakable or wear down with time. After that, or around five or six, it's dinner time. 

"In the evening time you do whatever you please. I don't set a curfew or a bedtime but it's your responsibility to be here at seven a.m. at the latest. Your mama says you're interested in the horses?"

A little dazed from the onslaught of information, Dean nods with a little more energy. "Yes, sir. I uh, I've always wanted to learn how to ride. Actually, if I'm bein' honest," he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. "This kinda lifestyle has always appealed to me, but, y'know, we live in the city and we would never have been able to afford…" he cuts Mary a glance, but she smiled warmly and nodded. Her boy is so polite and good. "Anyway, I'm real thankful for this opportunity, sir, and I'll do my best here."

Sonny studied Dean for a moment. He stroked his goatee thoughtfully, then stood up and offered his hand. "Well, Dean. Glad to have you on. You'll meet the boys at breakfast and we'll get you going. Sounds like in the evening," he smiled, "you'll be getting riding lessons."

Dean stood and took Sonny's hand, breathing out, "Awesome."

Mary stood as well. "I really can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Sonny."

The man turned a generous smile towards her. "He looks to be about a size ten boot."

"Yessir," Dean piped up.

"S'long as you got pants and shirts you don't care for, you'll have all the uniform you'll need. Mucky stuff requires an apron or something like it but I've got those."

"Thank you," Dean said, looking like he was still trying to contain his glee. Mary rubbed the small of his back comfortingly, which seemed to encourage him further. “I can’t wait to start.” 

Sonny nodded, clapping him warmly on the shoulder in a way that John never could master. She saw Dean’s knees weaken slightly because of it, and she saw him pull himself back together just as quickly.

Exchanging goodbyes, Mary and Dean left the farm to start the twenty minute trek back to her parent’s house. 

“What do you think?” Mary asked after about a minute of silence, her hands clasped behind her back and a smile on her features. Even she felt light after their interaction.

“He seems cool,” Dean said with a little shrug, though the slight flush on his features betrayed his “cool” words. “Wonder what all the other boys are like.” 

“Well,” Mary stepped closer to Dean, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing him to her side. “Remember that they will have different backgrounds and upbringings. A lot of these boys are here because they don’t have any options. Some of them might be delinquents. Some of them might be orphans. But no matter where they come from, what’s the most important thing for you to do?” 

“Treat everyone with respect,” Dean groaned, rolling his eyes.

“That’s my boy,” Mary said, kissing his head with a light laugh. “You’ll do well.”

“I’ll miss you durin’ the week,” Dean mumbled softly. 

She sniffed his sun sweet hair, “I’ll miss you too, baby. But I’ll be up on the weekends whenever I can.”

“You taking the position at the grocery store?” he asked. 

“Mmhmm,” Mary hummed positively. “It’s a simple job with simple pay, but every little bit will help.”

She knew Dean immediately had about a dozen things to say about her having to work because John was currently unemployed, but he dutifully said nothing. Always wanting to protect Mary, Dean took on a lot of responsibility to try and even out her load. But this was something that he couldn’t convince her otherwise from. Sometimes Mary wondered who was parenting who, over the last months. 

“In a month Sam will be at grandma and grandpa’s, too. If you think he’ll like it, Sonny would love to have him at the farm as well.”

“Heh,” Dean snickered, “like Sammy could handle that life.”

“Hey now,” Mary nudged him with her elbow, laughing. “We’ll see if _you_ can handle it, cowboy.” 

Dean’s laugh was softly muffled by the surrounding fields and trees, their steps on the dirt road breaking the melody. 

Oh, her beautiful boy.


	2. Chapter 2

Five thirty a.m. is a time Dean hasn’t experienced since, well… maybe ever. The alarm clock is shrill, the kind with two bells at the top and an analog face. It vibrates and bounces as it rings, creating an awful racket that even the dead can’t sleep through. Reaching out to slap in the general direction of the offended noise-blaster, Dean succeeded in knocking it off of the table, letting out a relieved sigh as slumber threatened to overtake him again.

“Dean!” Grandpa’s voice can be felt through the toes when it hits a certain, deep register. “Get up! You’re not gonna be late on your first day!” 

Samuel Campbell is a force to be reckoned with, and a father figure that Dean has occasionally butted heads with, but ultimately respects a great deal more than John Winchester. And so, Dean responsibly gets out of bed with an awful groan, fumbling to get untangled from the sheets. He hears grandpa’s footsteps lead away from the door and wonders if he was already up at this time, or even Dean’s alarm really did manage to wake up everyone in the house. 

Stuffing himself into a pair of jeans, he layers a button-up flannel over a white tank top. He tightens his belt, makes sure he puts on his thick socks before putting on his sneakers, then makes his way to the bathroom to splash his face clean and brush his teeth. The sun is just peeking over the mountains in the distance and grandpa is seated at the dining room table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper. He looks up at Dean, nods his head in greeting, then goes back to minding his business. 

It’s a good thing grandpa came to get him, after all. The walk to Sonny’s farm takes about twenty minutes, though a little quicker with the nip on the breeze pushing Dean’s feet to move faster. This time of year the sun is just rising, painting the tops of the mountains a pretty, greyish purple. At five-fifty a.m. Dean heads up the front porch and, after a moment’s hesitation, lets himself into the house. He hears voice and commotion coming from the back of the house where the kitchen is, so he heads there, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He knows Sonny and absolutely no one else; hell, he doesn’t even know how many other boys there are. But this house feels safe and cushioned, exactly as it felt yesterday with his mom by his side. 

He hadn’t seen it yesterday, but the kitchen is ginormous. There’s a table that easily sits eight, three of the seats occupied. Everyone stops whatever they’re doing, quiet settling over them, as Dean appears in the doorway and they all turn to look at him.

“Dean,” Sonny greets warmly. He’s standing at the stove over a frying pan, spatula in one hand as he tosses a dish towel over his shoulder with the other. “Mornin’. Have a seat and I’ll introduce ya.”

Plastering a nervous smile on his features, Dean sits down at the table. Next to the stove, at the sink, is a boy who looks to be maybe a bit older than Dean, with dark wild hair and suntanned skin. He’s dressed in light washed Levi’s and a thin t-shirt, the red fabric stretched with wear and bleached from the sun. He looks at Dean coolly with eyes blue as the morning sky, then turns away with disinterest as he seemingly washes the dishes as they’re being dirtied.

“This here is Castiel,” Sonny says, nodding towards the wild-haired boy. “Don’t talk much, but he’s my head honcho. His word is law. You disrespect him and he’s got permission to knock you into next week, alright?”

Gulping as he takes in the boy’s surprisingly defined biceps under his t-shirt, Dean nods. “Yessir.” He cuts his eyes away, knowing that looking at a dude that long could be misconstrued as ‘checking him out’.

“We got Benny-”

A burly boy at the table, sitting across from Dean with a soft smile and peach fuzz nods warmly to him. He’s wearing a checked t-shirt, unbuttoned and giving way to a white tank top that looks to have permanent smudges embedded in the fabric. 

“-Aaron-”

Next to Benny is a kid who looks way out of place, his nervous smile twitching around the edges as he smiles at Dean and then quickly averts his gaze. He’s dressed similarly to Benny, dark hair long on top and pushed back from his face with some sort of product.

“And little Jack there is Cas’s baby brother.” 

A boy looking to be Sam’s age, sitting on Dean’s left, tips his head to smile up at him. He’s fairly adorable in a pair of black overalls and a blue t-shirt, blond hair flopping as he wiggles in his chair. He and Castiel don’t look too much alike, at first, but then those blue eyes land on him and wow. That’s definitely a family trait. “Hiya! Sonny says you’re here because you wanna be. I think that’s really cool.”

Flushing from his ears to his toes, Dean coughs lightly. “I mean- I guess. I uh. I’m Dean.” 

“Pleasure to meet ya, brother,” Benny says, his tone of voice slightly accented and just as warm as his demeanor. “We got you all summer?”

“Unless I suck ass,” Dean says.

The sound of something whooshing through the air is all the warning Dean gets before something _twangs_ into the table between his fore and middle finger. Jolting in surprise, he looks down at his right hand, eyes doubling in size as he sees a _steak knife_ embedded into the table. Upon further inspection, there are pock marks all over the once-polished wood. The handle of the knife is still swaying slightly from the kinetic force of how fast it flew through the hair and how powerfully it struck the table. Reaching up with trembling fingers, he yanks the knife out of the table, marveling that it sank over a millimeter deep. 

A rumbling, unfamiliar voice says, “Watch your language.”

Dean’s eyes immediately move to Cas, who is now putting cooked food into serving bowls and onto plates. He moves confidently, his posture perfect and kinda scary, approaching the table and sending Dean a meaningful look, before nodding towards the knife.

“You’re lucky you didn’t move.” 

Aaron cracks a smile, chuckling a little and holding up his hand. On the back of his palm is a gnarly scar, scant centimeters long and crooked with a long ago botched stitch job. “I moved.” 

“Are you serious?” Dean says. He looks at the other boys, dread filling his gut. “This is serious?”

“As a heart attack, son,” Sonny says, helping Castiel bring the food to the table. Together they serve everyone’s portions on their plates, and then they sit down at either end. Everyone’s plates are piled high with bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs and toast. Sonny puts his elbows on the table and laces his fingers, sending Dean a small smile. “Aaron’s kidding, though. He hammered himself in the hand. What we _are_ serious about is manners. So keep that in mind.” 

Everyone tucks into their food, Dean slightly nauseated from his introduction to the boy that is basically going to be his boss for the whole summer. _Terrifying_ is what he is. Dean sneaks a look at him, seeing him saying grace quietly to himself, Jack mimicking him at his elbow. When they’re done Castiel’s eyes lift to pin Dean to his chair, a cool eyebrow lifted. For some reason, Dean’s mouth goes dry. He clears his throat, takes a drink of the orange juice in front of him, then digs in. It’s kind of nice to not say grace, actually. He likes that he has the option. 

Breakfast is a friendly affair, Castiel’s knife throwing notwithstanding. These boys are all clearly bonded, joking and laughing and teasing and talking about the upcoming day. Sonny stays quiet, a twinkle in his eye as he observes. Castiel also stays quiet, only checking on Jack to make sure he eats every last bite, as well as dutifully clearing his own plate. Suspecting that this farm is mostly self-sufficient, Dean also does his best to clear his plate and not waste anything. The portions are a lot bigger than what his mom serves him, but then again he’s never prepared for an entire day of labor, before. So this makes sense. 

Cleaning up after breakfast is a team effort, though Sonny says he’s the one to always do the dishes, wanting the boys to get outside as quickly as possible. The boys all start heading out the back door, Dean bringing up the rear, when Sonny’s voice stops him. Doubling back, Dean blinks in surprise when Sonny pulls him closer with a somewhat serious expression on his face.

“Cas is…” he seems a bit lost for words. “He’s a bit prickly at first. He’s had a rough go at life, him and his baby brother. Not my story to tell, but I wanted to give you a heads up.” 

“Yessir,” Dean says respectfully. “Figure a lotta tension happens around here with all us knuckleheads, huh?”

The twinkle returns to Sonny’s eye. He claps Dean on the shoulder, “You’re right about that, son. Put on your boots on the way out, they’re the blue ones by the door.”

“Thanks!” Dean says, taking his cue to leave. At the back door he pauses to take off his shoes and put them on the handmade shoe rack next to the door, pulling on the last pair of boots. A perfect fit, he discovers, wiggling his toes. Smiling to himself, he throws open the door and then shuts it behind him, eyes on swivel to find Castiel. 

He sees him standing by the fence dividing the quaint backyard and the pasture. There’s a tan cowboy hat perched on his head, a beige one in his hand, and he’s watching Dean approach him with some sort of… something glittering in his eye. 

“This ain’t the part where you haze me, is it?” Dean asks with a bit of a grumble, Castiel’s heavy gaze making his guts squirm. 

For some reason, that causes a tiny smile to curl Castiel’s lips. He holds out the cowboy hat, “No. We are a team, and you will be treated like a teammate until you no longer act like one.”

Taking the hat and hoping he doesn’t look as excited as he feels, Dean perches it on his head and squints at Castiel. “Anyone ever tell you you talk like an adult?” 

“Do I?” Castiel asks blandly. He turns around to open the gate, and Dean _knows_ he sees a smirk before he does. He follows Castiel through, walking along the fenceline. The stables are only about a hundred feet away from the house, five stalls and a corral built next to it. “In the mornings the animals get the most attention. Along with the horses, we have a llama and chickens. Jack takes care of the chickens because he’s still a little young to be doing all of the hard work. There’s also a vegetable garden, which Jack and Aaron tend to.”

As they approach the stables, Dean is a little disappointed to see that none of the horses (or the llama) are home. The barn is longer than it is deep, each stall running in one line facing north to cast all of the stalls in shadows.

“First, we’ll clean the stalls. Take out all of yesterday’s hay and manure, and then fill them with new hay. We have acreage, but no hay fields, so we are also in charge of ordering the weekly supplies that include hay and other things. We’ll go over that when the time comes.” On the side of the stables is a rack of tools ranging from pitchforks to shovels to rakes, which he gestures to. “We load it all into a wheelbarrow and then use it as a sort of compost to spread it around the corral and some other parts of the property, like the garden. We have a composter machine.” He pulls a pitch fork and a flat shovel from the tool rack, holding them both out towards Dean. “Pick one, I’ll use the other. We’ll do this one step at a time so I don’t overwhelm you.”

“Right,” Dean says, taking the shovel. He’s used one of those before. 

Following Castiel’s lead, they both start to work on the first stall. Together they get it all cleaned out, alternating taking the wheelbarrow to what looks like an empty oil drum in the corner of the backyard. With both of them it takes about thirty minutes to get emptied, and when Dean stands back and wipes his forehead from sweat, he sends Castiel a sated smile.

“Nice.”

Arching a brow, Castiel doesn’t mask the surprise on his features. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” Dean gestures. “Feels good, don’t it? It was a mess before. Now we’ll be able to put new stuff in it and make nice little beds for everybody.”

Quizzically, Castiel leans his pitchfork against the wall. “I… suppose.”

“Do we hose it?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Castiel says. He still looks a little perplexed as he uncoils the hose from the outside of the small barn. As he hands the end to Dean, he gets almost uncomfortably close, examining his features. Those blue eyes dart all over Dean’s face, making Dean’s gut squirm a little, before he says, “You really are here because you want to be, aren’t you?” 

“Uh,” Dean takes the hose, shrinking back a little. “Yeah, man.”

Castiel is silent for a moment, before he finally pulls away. “Good. Hopefully that will reflect in your continued work ethics.”

“Alright, Spock,” Dean mutters under his breath. 

Castiel replies by turning the hose on full blast, making Dean yelp as it tries to wriggle out of his hands. He wrangles it under control and aims it into the stall, laughing a little and wiping his face where some of the water sprayed onto it. 

Seems like Castiel won’t be that bad, after all.

\--

It takes them until lunch time to get all of the stalls cleared out. Castiel says they have to dry before they can put the new hay down, which usually happens by the time they’re done with lunch. They haul the last of the muck to the compost bin, then make their way inside. The boys appear out of thin air, everyone hogging the big sink to try and get their hands clean with soap and water. Jack gets pushed out a couple of times until Dean picks his small frame up and squishes him through, pinning him against the sink so they can both wash their hands together. 

Another ten minutes has the boys all seated at the table, sandwich fixings spread out along the length of it. ‘Make your own’ is very clear, so they do just that. Their seating arrangement is exactly as it was at breakfast, which makes Dean wonder if that’s just how it is, all these boys and Sonny in their routine. He doesn’t mind. Lunch is a noisy affair, just as breakfast was, Dean finding a bit of comfort in this mish-mashed family. 

Turns out the boys rotate around the farm on a day to day basis. Each one has their strong point. Today Castiel will be touring Dean around all of the basics, teaching him how to do those chores in depth, and then tomorrow he will be learning finer details as well as figuring out what his own niche will be.

For instance, Benny is good at the veterinarian work, because the animals all trust him. Aaron calls him an animal whisperer. Jack says Benny basically _is_ a farm animal. 

Aaron is in charge of the landscaping and garden work. He has a good green thumb and good instincts when it comes to botany, not to mention he adores it. It makes sense to Dean, because out of everyone, Aaron looks the least… farm-y, if that makes sense. 

As Castiel said, Jack is in charge of the smaller, more manageable things. He is one-hundred percent in charge of the chicken coop; from tending to the chickens, to repairing the coop, and harvesting the eggs. He’s the only one that enters the coop, which everyone agrees is perfectly fine because the chickens try to chase anyone else out. 

Dean’s fine with it. He hates birds.

Then there’s Castiel. He seems to do literally everything and anything else, and it’s no wonder that Sonny was so ready to get Dean on the team. As Castiel’s shadow, he’s halving the work of the oldest boy. Castiel appears to have it all under control and doesn’t seem like the type to complain, but as they worked together, Dean could sense the relief. 

It’s a rag tag bunch set in a routine, but so far they’ve all been friendly and welcoming to Dean. He’s thankful for it. He’d been mildly concerned that going into a boy’s home would be a little traumatizing. 

Lunch is tasty as breakfast. Maybe because he’s already working up an appetite, but his sandwich is stacked higher than he ever could get it at home, and he’s not missing his Coke too much, surprisingly. The water is delicious in his parched mouth and throat, his skin already holding a residual warmth from being in the sun for a few hours. Once again cleanup is left to Sonny, who comes into the kitchen right as the boys are all leaving. He claps them all on the back, sends them off with good words, and then it’s back to work.

Castiel shows Dean how to run the composter. It’s clearly home made, an old bike handle welded to one end of the barrel and the barrel itself attached to what looks like two sawhorses. Castiel explains that in order to compost this whole pile it would take hours, so when it builds up they usually rock paper scissors someone to do it on Saturday morning. He shows Dean how to start it though, turning the bicycle handle clockwise, the sounds of the muck tumbling around echoey and metallic and sort of satisfying. 

The walk around the perimeter takes two hours. He and Castiel walk side by side, the heat of the sun beating down on their shoulders and warming their hats. Castiel points out weak spots in the fence line; most of the fencing is just wire strapped to fence posts at ten foot intervals, but there are a few places that have additions of pickets. As they pass those Castiel says they lead to different places; one leads to a creek on the property, one leads to a secret copse of birchwood, another actually joins the Campbell property to Sonny’s. Dean takes interest in all of these points along with all the other knowledge he’s tucking away. He wonders how much of the property the boys _enjoy_ , as well as work on. 

Deeming the fences in good shape, they then work on filling the stables back up with fresh hay. Dean revels in the smell, likes how it clings to his clothes and skin and hair. Once the stables are all good to go, he hears a few snuffles behind him. Turning around, he sees that pretty buckskin he and his mom saw. It’s standing about ten feet from him, tail flicking curiously as it peers at the newcomer in its home.

“Ah,” Castiel steps up next to Dean. “She’s our newest addition. Sonny rescued her from a breeding farm.”

“What’s her name?” Dean asks.

“She doesn’t have one,” Castiel shrugs. “She… isn’t really a people person. Not mean, just doesn’t seem very interested in any of us.” 

“She’s beautiful,” Dean says softly.

He feels Castiel’s eyes on him, but ignores it even though his gaze makes his skin prickle. “Do you have experience with horses?” 

“No.”

“Sonny said in exchange for helping out that I am to give you riding lessons.”

“Yeah. I mean- I guess. I want that, but…” Dean licks his lips, looking at the nameless buckskin. “I feel kinda scared right now. She’s- ...huge.” 

A low, throaty chuckle leaves Castiel’s throat, teasing but not patronizing. “Yes. Horses are very large creatures. But,” he passes by Dean, close enough that their hands brush. He approaches the buckskin, holding out his hand confidently, “they’re nothing to be afraid of.” 

Watching with quiet wonder, Dean sees how the buckskin snuffles into Castiel’s palm, then stretches her neck out to bump her forehead against his chest. “Thought she didn’t like people?” 

Castiel smirks a little, “She doesn’t. It’s time to feed the horses oats. They tend to get needy when they’re on a routine.” 

“Oh,” Dean says, then perks up a little. “Can I help feed them?” 

“Of course,” Castiel says. He pushes the buckskin’s head forcefully away from him, though the horse barely moves. She snuffles a little, then straightens up, unbothered by him pushing her away. “I’ll show you where they are. We try to keep the horses spread out so they don’t steal each other’s food, so we need to tie them to different parts of the corral.” 

The tack shed is one of the store bought kind, wide and long, a little dilapidated from time and weather but still in decent shape. Castiel wrenches open the door, dust puffing out, then steps inside. It’s full of everything one needs to tend to horses (and llama); blankets, grooming supplies, saddles, bridles, ropes, and a bunch of other stuff Dean can’t look at long enough to figure out what it is. There’s a huge tote full of oats in the corner, and four small red buckets on a shelf above it. 

“This is good,” Castiel says, starting to scoop oats into the buckets. “We can each carry two. We’ll fill them, then hang them on the fence of the corral, _then_ guide the horses to them.” 

“Easy enough,” Dean says. When Castiel hands him two buckets, he holds them and watches as the other boy starts looping what looks like a bunch of rope over his arms. They then head outside with four buckets of oats and enough rope to hogtie someone, which causes Dean to ask, “What are the ropes for?” 

“They’re a type of bridle,” Castiel says. “Gentle and for easy guidance.”

“They look complicated,” Dean says, hanging the buckets where Castiel tells him to. 

When the last bucket is hung, Castiel pulls one of the rope tangles off of his arm and sends Dean a little smirk. “I’ll show you how to put it on.” He then turns towards the buckskin, who is lazily making her way towards one of the buckets. “She’s got a head start. If she’s eating, it will be a little easier to show you how this works.” 

Sure enough, Castiel manages to figure out heads and tails of the rope expertly. He shows Dean how to drape the long part over the horse’s neck and which part goes over the nose (the triangle part, Dean tries desperately to memorize), and this close Dean can feel the solid _presence_ of the horse. Standing right next to it, Dean marvels at the size of it. Massive. And the smell… like hay and something else. It’s calming and terrifying all at once. Castiel’s fingers are dextrous and confident as they get the bridle on and off the horse, and then he’s holding it to Dean with a small smile.

“You try.” 

Swallowing thickly, Dean takes the rope bridle. 

“If you’re nervous, talk to her,” the other boy suggests. “She’ll know if you’re nervous.”

“Great,” Dean mumbles. 

Castiel nudges him towards the horse, which causes the horse to yank her head away slightly in annoyance. 

Taking in a few short breaths, Dean lifts a hand to gently start petting down her neck, the feeling of her muscles shifting under her short, soft coat grounding him. “Hey…” he starts softly. The horse puts her nose back into the bucket. Confident, he continues. “Remember me? Sorry I didn’t have anything for you last time. Cas helped me out though, see? You like those oats, huh?” As he talks, his confidence grows. His hand starts petting over more parts of her; fingers through her mane and touching her ears, palm stroking over her broad chest. 

As his hand moves over her chest he reaches the long end of the rope around, flopping it over her neck and pulling it down with a satisfied grin. “Alright, baby. Time to get this bridle on. Gonna be good for me?” The buckskin snuffles into her oats, then lifts her head out as though obeying him. He easily slips the bridle onto her head, getting it all figured out and shocking himself, then lets out a surprised laugh when everything settles into place. “I’ll be damned. Lookitchu, baby.”

Stepping back a little, he looks over the length of her body in awe. Castiel must have decided he’s not an idiot, because he’s left to go hang the other buckets and bridle the other horses. Alone with the buckskin, Dean only feels a flutter in his stomach from excitement. He’s here! With a horse! Feeding it! And petting it! He even put a _bridle_ on it! And the horse doesn’t seem to hate his guts!

While she eats from the bucket, he moves down her body. He knows not to get behind a horse that doesn’t know him, so he avoids that, but he does run his hands over her sides and back and even around her belly a bit, getting a feel for her and also getting her used to his touch. After a few moments he feels a nudge to his shoulder; looking up, he’s surprised to see the buckskin staring at him plaintively, her tail swishing side to side. 

“I stand corrected,” Castiel’s voice comes as he approaches. “She likes you.”

Dean beams. “I like her, too.” 

Something shifts in Castiel’s expression, but it’s there and gone in the blink of an eye. “She hasn’t taken to anyone else but me and Benny.” 

“Then she’s not that antisocial, huh?” Dean asks, rubbing his hand affectionately over her snout as she nudges his shoulder. 

“Well,” Castiel says, “Benny has a way with animals when they need to be medically treated. She doesn’t like him outside of that. I have a way with animals when they need to be fed. She doesn’t like me outside of that.” 

“I mean, I did just feed her,” Dean points out. 

“We’ll come back later and see if she feels any different,” Castiel suggests. “I’ve unclipped the leads from all the bridles so they can move around the corral when we leave. We keep them here for about an hour or so to monitor them. Benny watches out for limps or wounds and if anyone is being cranky. We, though, shall move on.” 

Dean turns to the buckskin, offering her a small smile and reaching up to ruffle the spot between her ears. “I’ll be back in a bit, baby.” 

Castiel leads Dean out of the corral and towards the other side of the house, where a large shop-slash-garage sits. Dean can see small tractors, a four-wheeler, and a few other toys, another smile breaking out over his face.

“Now this is what I’m talkin’ about.” 

“Equipment?” Castiel asks with surprise. 

“Anything that has an engine is something I’m into,” Dean announces. As they get closer, he frowns at one of the tractors. It looks dusty, rusty in some places. “When’s the last time this was used?”

“Two summers ago,” Castiel says. “It stopped working and we haven’t been able to figure out why. Sonny doesn’t like to outsource, so I’ve been doing my best to learn how it operates. I still haven’t found the problem, yet.” 

Without any prompting, Dean hops up into the seat. It’s a basic tractor with a three point hitch and no roll cage, meant for towing only and pretty… unsafe and old, just by looking at it. The keys are on the floor. When he turns the ignition it sputters and splutters, but otherwise doesn’t turn over. Twisting this way and that in the seat, doing his best to look at everything he can, Dean turns towards Castiel.

“How much you know about tractors?”

“Enough that we should probably just buy a new one,” Castiel says dryly.

“Nah,” Dean grins. “This one needs some engine work and probably a second hydraulic hose, but it’s nothin’ I can’t do, I think.”

Again, surprise and some other emotion flickers over Castiel’s face. “Really?” 

“Sure,” he replies, shrugging his shoulder. “My old man taught me a lot about this stuff. Actually, I’m gonna miss working on the car this summer so this will be a good project.”

Castiel’s quiet while Dean continues poking around the tractor, then says, “Why are you here, Dean?” 

Looking up into eyes prettier than any wildflower they saw today, Dean debates on how to reply. Without knowing anything about the boys here, he already knows he’s spoiled. His dad is an ass that lays his hands on his wife and son every now and again, but what about Castiel’s life brought him _and_ his brother here? What about Benny, with his cajun accent, so far removed from home? And Aaron, who looked kinda scrawny and soft and like he doesn’t fit into regular masculine norms?

“‘Cause my dad didn’t want me to be,” he finally decides, now talking at his fingers on the keys in the ignition.. “Said I was bein’ a kid with a dumb dream, basically. Said I couldn’t be a cowboy when I grow up, or whatever.”

“Is that…” Now Castiel is back to looking adorably perplexed. Or- not adorably perplexed, just _regular_ perplexed, ok? “Is that what you want to be when you grow up?” 

“I- look, it’s a little more complicated than that,” Dean says gruffly. He stands up, climbing off of the tractor until he drops down onto the solid dirt with his two feet. 

“You’re here because you have daddy issues,” Castiel says plainly. 

Dean flushes down his neck. He reaches up, taking his hat off and wiping the sweat from his brow so he can glare at Castiel without anything obstructing his view. “That sounds _weird_ , dude-” 

“It’s not,” Castiel interrupts. His shoulders are square, eyes pinning Dean where he stands. “I think it’s important for you to know why we’re all here, and for us to know why you’re here _voluntarily_.” 

“I’m here ‘cause my dad got laid off and smacks my mom around and she doesn’t want me to see it all summer,” Dean finally snaps, voice raising. “I’m here ‘cause I got a ‘thing’ for cowboys or whatever and ‘cause my dad can’t stand that I refuse to do whatever he tells me here. I’m here ‘cause it’ll take some of the stress off my mom’s shoulders.” 

Unperturbed at Dean’s snappish replies, Castiel folds his arms loosely over his chest. The muscles in his arms strain, the gesture meant to be loose and relaxed but coiled at the edges. “I am here because my religious zealot parents found out that I’m gay. Three years ago they nearly beat me to death and dropped me off at a straight camp. Instead of going to camp, I walked the opposite direction down the highway. Sonny found me and brought me here.” He’s still tense when he adds, “When I called them they said I led Jack down a path of darkness, because he was so fitful in my absence. Sonny agreed to drive out to pick him up from them. They…” Castiel’s jaw ticked, the only emotion on his features as he recounts the horrific story. “They just gave him up like they didn’t care. Sonny brought him back. He was seven.” He drums his fingers over his bicep, then clears his throat roughly. “You’ll have to ask Aaron and Benny why they’re here.” 

Something ugly and heavy sits in Dean’s gut. He knows what being gay is, he knows what that means for Castiel- and he knows what that means to religious people, too. He reads books. He watches television and movies. Sonny finding Castiel on the highway was the best case scenario in a situation that Castiel had been sure he wouldn’t come out on the other side of. The warring sensation of relief and anger swirl in his stomach and after a moment, Dean finally untenses himself.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, holding Castiel’s gaze. “What your parents did wasn’t right. Being gay ain’t a sin. Even I know that. But I mean- it’s good in its own way, ‘cause you and Jack don’t have to be around that anymore.” 

Searching Dean’s gaze, Castiel also unclenches. His hands drop loosely to his sides, and he nods. “You’re right.” 

“You… alright?” Dean asks cautiously. 

Castiel’s expression shutters slightly. “Fine, Dean. Let’s move on.” 

Dean watches Castiel walk away, wringing his hat in his hands as he stares at his back. He knew he was bound to get sideswiped by these boy’s backstories. Mary had told him to be prepared, emotionally, for anything he might encounter while at Sonny’s, and while he hadn’t necessarily brushed it off, he now realizes that he hadn’t been _fully_ prepared to hear their stories. The way Castiel said his… so distant and emotionless, facts and no embellishments. It breaks Dean’s heart a little. 

And yet, Dean recalls those indecipherable looks Castiel has been giving him all day; the disbelief mixed with the pleasure, like Dean surprises him with the smallest things. 

Castiel and the other boys have had a rough go, and even Dean’s having his own rough time right now, but he’s realizing that all the bullshit doesn’t have to affect him here.

Here is something he’s privileged to be a part of. 

Here is something he knows he’ll be proud to be a part of.

\--

Dinner consists of chili and cornbread, all home made. The boys eat with gusto, then break to get undressed and clean; there are two showers in the house, one on the main floor and one upstairs, and Sonny reveals that neither of them have hot water for more than ten minutes at a time. But the boys always bum rush them, he says, so they’re basically taking cold showers all of the time. He thinks it’s hilarious. Dean sort of does, too. He himself will wait until he’s back at grandma and grandpa’s to shower, but for now he wanders off of the back porch and towards the corral, where that pretty buckskin is still lingering around, her other horse friends off in the pasture.

“Hey, you,” Dean greets her softly as he approaches. Instead of using the gate he swings himself over the fence of the corral, hopping down into the dirt. With the setting sun he hangs his hat on one of the corral posts, clear vision as he takes in the buckskin who’s currently approaching him.

She snuffles into his hands, then snorts when she realizes he doesn’t have anything. Any nervousness he had before is completely gone as he gets comfortable with her, petting her and pushing her and commanding “back”, as Castiel had shown him earlier when she gets a little too nosy. She obeys every time to “back”, going still when he says “stand”, but overall they play a little as he pets her. Her trotting hooves are a little scary, because one of them could easily crush him, but he pays attention to her body language and knows that she’s enjoying playing with him, too. 

“She does like you,” comes Castiel’s soft voice.

Jumping a little, Dean whips his head around to see Castiel sitting on the corral fence. Blushing, Dean turns towards the buckskin, who knocks her forehead against his affectionately. It makes his teeth clack, but he loves it. “Guess she does. I didn’t even have a treat for her this time.” 

“I think,” Castiel says, “she should be yours.”

“What?” Dean asks, turning wide eyes to the other boy. “Can you just give me a horse?” 

Castiel shrugs. “I don’t think horses are creatures to be ‘given’, but since she likes you, I think she could claim you as her human.” 

Feeling himself smile a little, Dean looks towards the horse, tugging gently on her mane. “Whaddya think, baby?” 

“You should name her that.”

“What?”

“Baby.” 

“Yeah?”

“It’s what you’ve been calling her all day. She’ll probably respond to it.” 

Grinning wider, Dean ruffles his blunt nails gently over her snout. “Baby, huh? That a good name for you?”

Baby snuffles, hot air billowing over Dean’s waistband and making him laugh and squirm a bit. “Alright, Baby it is.” He pets over her coat and mane, smiling contentedly and enjoying the comforting sensation of nearly being surrounded completely by the horse. It’s foreign and wonderful and Dean’s first day is over, truly physically tiring, but… this moment right here, this feels just as good as the rest of it. Maybe even better. 

After a few moments, Castiel says, “Goodnight, Dean.” 

Turning to look at Castiel’s retreating back, Dean wants to say something. But what? Thanks? Sorry your family disowned you? He feels… _something_ pulling behind his chest as he watches Castiel take off his hat and run dirty fingers through the bits of straw stuck in his wild hair. A simple ‘goodnight’ doesn’t seem as monumental as the odd feeling stirring in Dean’s gut, and yet… 

“Night, Cas.” 

That night in bed, freshly showered and surrounded by the comforting scent of his grandparent’s laundry soap, Dean looks out of the window up to the stars. Work at the farm is definitely difficult, but as he reflects on his day, he thinks… this is what he’s supposed to do. Work towards a goal, have responsibility for the things and people around him. He feels independent, grown beyond fourteen; he already feels like he’s proving his father wrong with everything he learns and every task he takes on. 

Yeah, he thinks. 

This is what he was meant to do.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the week goes by. Dean learns the ins and outs of the farm and even works with the other boys. He’s not stuck at Castiel’s side the whole time, though there’s a strange part of him that sort of… wishes he was? He doesn’t examine that feeling too much, choosing to store it away and instead focus on whatever’s in front of him. That, he can do. And that, he enjoys. Being presented with a problem or task and focusing solely on it until it’s complete is a deep satisfaction that he never knew he craved. It makes sense, though. Anything he’s interested in, he’s able to zone in on. Cars, sports, heh- movies. Farm work is another thing to add to the list, though he’s finding it has an even greater reward than anything he’s tried at home or in school. Knowing that he’s responsible for the animals being happy and healthy and clean, knowing that he can fix a broken fence to keep them safe, knowing he can work on equipment and get it up and running all on his own. That tractor had only needed a few parts, which Sonny had been more than happy to get, and when Dean turned the key and lit her up, Castiel had actually _clapped_. Dean knows that everyone’s excited to ditch the wheelbarrow and use the tractor to haul things.

Yeah, this way of life is… _suiting_ Dean. It’s hard, yes. It’s frustrating at times, yes. But here is a family, a safe cocoon of encouragement and support from all angles. At home it had been hard with only his mom and Sammy cheering him on against the gale force of his father. Dean had put on a good show at school to make sure none of his peers or teachers suspected anything, and he’d done a good job of it.

Here, though. Here at Sonny’s boy’s home Dean was just another boy with a job to do; no stress, no drama, just whatever task was put in front of him. 

Castiel had said that they’d wait until next week to start riding lessons, wanting Dean to firstly get acclimated with all of the animals and comfortable with them before putting him on one’s back. It made perfect sense, since Baby still has a few fits every now and again, though Dean just started to realize that was part of her personality. 

Here on Friday night, dinner done and bellies full, the boys disperse. Dean follows his routine of going out towards the corral where Baby waits for him - she actually _waits_ for him, and it fills his heart with joy - where he gets a bristle brush from the tack shed and goes about grooming her from head to toe. Castiel said this is one of the easiest ways to get a horse to trust you and to allow you to get intimate with their body and make sure you start to learn every tell, but Dean also likes it because it’s a little… therapeutic. It’s easy to lose himself in the daily tasks of hauling and sweating and wheeling and hammering, but here, just him and Baby in their own little bubble… he definitely likes ending his days like this. 

\--

Over the past week Dean learned Benny and Aaron’s stories. 

Aaron’s is similar to Castiel’s; his parents found out he was gay _and_ that he smoked pot all in one heck of a night. They were religious, Jewish folks preparing Aaron for his bar mitzvah, but it all went up in flames, so to speak, when they caught twelve year old Aaron hitting a joint with fourteen year old Andy, their fingers interlaced as they shared smoke with their mouths. They were much less scary than Castiel’s parents, though. Aaron lives at Sonny’s for the summers only, allowed to live in his parent’s home while he finishes out his schooling. They say he’s on his own for college, which he says he actually appreciates. Learning this clicks a few things into place in Dean’s head. Specifically, some of the… _looks_ he occasionally catches Aaron sending him. At first they confused him, because he didn’t understand them. But now he recognizes them he finds himself slightly amused, sending Aaron a wink or two every now and again. Thankfully Aaron sees it for the tease it is, usually responding by flipping him the bird. 

Benny’s parents sent him here when he got into his first fight at school. They sort of jumped the gun in Dean’s opinion, but Benny had shrugged and said they’ve been looking for a reason to send him away for the summers. His dad’s a drunk and his mom is a shrewd thing, always at odds with each other and occasionally bringing Benny into their arguing. Dean’s not sure if he can properly envision Benny getting into any sort of argument, being that he’s just a big teddy bear and all, but he takes him for his word. It kinda pisses Dean off, really, that Benny’s parents would try to drag him into their drama. But Benny seems fairly unaffected by it, saying that working with Sonny is gonna look real nice on his resume when he goes to college and starts looking for work. 

Castiel and Jack are the only ones who stay at Sonny’s home year round. He homeschools them during the academic year, working with Castiel first thing in the morning and then Jack when Castiel goes off to tend to the farm. Dean marvels at the fact that Castiel takes care of this _entire_ farm basically on his own for most of the year. Again, no wonder Sonny had been so eager to accept Dean’s help and assign him as Castiel’s right hand. 

Dad thought Dean wouldn’t be able to hack it as a ‘cowboy’. Boy, he can’t wait to prove him wrong. It’s Saturday morning and Dean has today and tomorrow off from the farm, though he feels a little guilty about it because farms are twenty-four-seven work; the boys don’t get the weekends off, why should Dean? But mom is coming to visit today, and he’s excited to regale her with the week’s comings and goings. They’re going to pick from grandma and grandpa’s orchard and spend the afternoon baking in their kitchen. Of course, grandma and grandpa are looking forward to it, but Dean’s mostly looking forward to time with his mom and the spoils of their hobby. 

When Mary arrives Dean thinks he’s never seen her look more beautiful. Her long blonde hair flows in the wind as she gets out of her powder blue Gremlin, one hand keeping her orange sundress down as the other holds a shopping bag. Dean’s waiting for her on the porch, bouncing from foot to foot. Grandma’s doing his laundry so he’s wearing pajama pants and a tank top, but honestly it feels good to be wearing the loose, light clothes, since his skin has definitely finally started feeling the effects of being out in the sun for nearly twelve hours a day.

“Hi baby,” mom calls.

Dean hops down the steps on bare feet, meeting mom halfway. He wraps his arms around her in a tight hug, inhaling her perfume and shampoo; the floating sensation of being wrapped in her embrace fills his head and grounds his body like it normally does. He’s a mama’s boy, and he’ll never tell anyone otherwise. 

“Look at you,” she says with a small gasp, reaching up to cup either side of his face and turn his head this way and that. “Covered in freckles! Have you been wearing sunscreen?”

Grumbling a little, he rolls his eyes. “Even if I did, ma, it’d melt off. I don’t have time to reapply it.” 

Her eyes crinkle prettily at the corners. She rarely wears makeup and she glows from the inside out, her pale green eyes brought out by the summer highlights in her hair. “Ok, tough guy. Let’s go inside, you’ve had enough sun for the week.” 

Grinning, he drapes an arm around her shoulders, guiding her up the stairs. He’s just a fraction taller than her, but he knows he’s still growing and wonders when he’ll be able to cradle _her_ to _his_ chest. When they enter the house grandma comes out of the kitchen with a smile, wiping her hands on her apron and moving forward to bring mom into a hug.

“Good to see you, Mary,” grandma says. “Dean has been very wonderful, before you ask.” 

“He doesn’t even eat our food,” grandpa says, coming out of the study. He takes off his glasses, letting them rest around his neck on their loop. He sends mom a smile he reserves just for her, drawing her away from grandma and into a tight, affectionate hug. “This is a dream arrangement. All he does is sleep and ask Deanna to do his laundry.” 

Laughing a little, mom sends Dean a proud smile. “He’s always been a good boy. Never in the way.” 

Rolling his eyes but not hiding his grin, Dean gestures towards the shopping bag still clutched in mom’s free hand. “What’s in the bag?” 

“Oh,” mom holds the bag out towards Dean. “I got you a few things! When you called last night and said you’d be settling in for the long term I thought you’d need these.” 

“Mom,” Dean grumbles a little, a pleased flush spreading on his cheeks warring with the anxiety in his chest. “Can you afford that right now?” 

She smacks him on the arm. “Dean Henry, don’t you tell me how to spend my money.” She shoos him with her hands. “Let’s go into the kitchen.” 

The four of them head into the kitchen, grandma and grandpa sitting down at the table while Dean and Mary stand. There’s a box at the bottom of the bag, but Dean pulls out the loose items first. A pair of working gloves, thick and textured. He puts one on curiously, grinning when it fits, well, like a glove. There’s grip on the inside too to make sure they don’t slip off while he’s working. Setting them aside, he picks up a reusable water bottle, plain blue in color with a pop spout. Benny has one kind of like it. Nodding, he sets that aside as well, pulling the box out next. It’s about the size of a shoe box, but when he opens it his eyes bug out of his head. 

“Ma-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” mom says firmly. She reaches out to help Dean pull the Stetson out of its box, a proud smile on her features. “You aren’t a cowboy until you’ve got one of these.”

The hat that Castiel had been letting Dean use was unlabeled and low quality, not quite fit to his head, probably because so many heads have worn it over the years. A borrowed hat but good for its intended use. This black Stetson with its perfect brim and dented top takes his breath away, the material as it brushes over his fingertips incredible. 

“It was the cheapest one I could find,” mom explains, trying to reassure Dean. “And it was the last one in your size. I had to get it.” 

“Ma,” Dean’s voice wobbles a little, his eyes glistening as he looks at her.

“I know you’re getting all yucky and gross during the day and probably have a different hat you wear,” she says, idly reaching to brush off invisible lint from the hat, “but I figured… when you’re in the saddle, this would suit you.” 

Putting the hat down on the table, Dean wraps his mom up in a hug so tight she lets out a surprised cough. Her arms wind around him and after a second, hug him just as tight, her face in his neck. 

“You smell different,” she murmurs. 

“Creep,” Dean teases, the word struggling to get past the lump in his throat. 

“My baby’s growing up,” mom says, pulling away and wiping at her eyes with a watery chuckle. “I’m so proud of you, Dean.”

Grandma and grandpa watch quietly with smiles on their faces. It’s a tender moment between Dean and his mom, and he can’t help but bring her in for another hug. 

“Thanks for letting me have a chance at this,” he says. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, ma.” 

Pulling away again, mom sniffles and then cuffs Dean lightly on the chin. “Alright, enough chick flick moments. Let’s go pick some fruit.” 

As Dean and his mom head out the back door to the small orchard his grandparents keep, his full heart nearly carries him away. 

He’ll never take any of this for granted, ever.

\--

On Sunday, mom comes up to visit again. Yesterday they’d completed quite a few tasks; they baked cookies and bread and made different flavors of juice. Today their focus is pies and sweetbreads, like banana and zucchini bread, and halfway through mom suggests that they take their spoils over to Sonny’s. Dean readily agrees, and with grandma’s offered wicker basket and checked blanket, he and mom start the trek to Sonny’s. It’s a little past four, so the boys should all be in the thick of things, but Dean’s kind of into just dropping off the treats and getting out before any of them notice. 

Sonny welcomes them warmly when they enter the house. He’s in the kitchen preparing dinner, and when he sees them armed with goods, he laughs and nods at the far counter. Dean and his mom spread out the goods attractively, leaving some of the items in the basket. Cherry pie, apple pie, banana bread, zucchini bread, chocolate chip cookies. Mom gets caught up in conversation with Sonny as he cooks, getting roped into helping him (Dean knows she doesn’t mind, though) as Dean finishes setting up the treats. 

Jack is the first one to come inside, smiling huge and making a beeline towards Dean for a hug. Laughing, Dean pats Jack’s back affectionately. Jack beams at him and then moves to the sink, stretching up on his tiptoes to wash his hands in the faucet. Aaron comes in next, blinking in surprise at seeing Dean, then grins huge and makes his way over to look at all the goodies. 

“I didn’t know you could bake,” he says warmly.

Dean shrugs a little, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “I like it. Plus, look at the rewards, man. Well worth learning.” 

Chuckling a little, Aaron nods before moving over to the sink to help Jack finish washing his hands as well as wash his own. Benny comes in next, arching a brow at the treats, then sends Dean a wink as he takes his turn at the sink. 

Castiel is very last to come inside, just as the table is being set. He’s absolutely filthy compared to the other boys, a wave of guilt trying to overtake Dean as he takes it in. He’d been thinking about it, sure, but now he _really_ thinks about how much work Castiel has to do on his own, every day of the year with no breaks. He looks a bit startled to see Dean, then looks even more startled to see mom helping Sonny set the table (spaghetti, mmm). Ducking his gaze, Castiel moves to the sink silently to clean up, shoulders tense and spine straight. 

“Alright boys,” Sonny says to quell the commotion at the table. “This here’s Mary, Dean’s mom. You’re gonna treat her like she’s your own, ok? No lip.”

“Yessir,” they all chorus. 

“Her and Dean brought us some goodies,” Sonny continues, gesturing towards the counter where Dean’s standing. He flushes, and Sonny says, “I know you don’t have any problems cleaning up your plate, but- after the kitchen’s all cleaned up, you can help yourselves. _Respectfully_. That means you only take a portion for yourself so everyone has a chance.” 

“We don’t get treats a lot,” Jack explains, beaming up at mom. “Thank you!” 

An unreadable expression filters over mom’s face, before she sends Jack a small smile, reaching out to ruffle his fluffy hair. “You’re welcome. If you like them, Dean and I can make more.” 

“That’s mighty kind of you,” Benny says, the usual warmth twinkling in his eyes. “This place could use a woman’s touch.” 

Aaron throws his napkin at Benny, “Then put on a dress.” 

“You’d look better,” Benny shoots back. 

“You’ll _all_ wear dresses for a day if you keep that up,” Sonny says. 

Castiel sits down at the table, sending an expectant look towards Dean. It catches him off guard, suddenly having the other boy’s attention on him, especially since he hasn’t said a word since coming inside. A deer in headlights, Dean’s unsure as to what that look means; Castiel’s jaw clenches, and then he gestures at the empty seats. “Join us.” 

Mom sends Castiel a slightly surprised smile, then accepts his invitation with grace. “Dean, honey, come sit down.” 

Dean takes his seat next to Jack. Sonny sets their spots, and when he sits, mom sits at his elbow. 

“Do you say grace?” Sonny asks mom.

She contemplates for a moment, then looks across the table at Dean. He shakes his head minutely, which causes a relieved smile to break out over her features. “No, thank you. But we won’t stop anyone else.” 

Castiel and Jack already have their heads bowed, ignoring the conversation around them. Their hands are joined, the prayer is longer, and Dean assumes it’s because it’s Sunday and they probably didn’t go to church. It sort of amazes Dean, really, that Castiel still… you know, prays, after his crazy religious parents kicked him out for being gay. Then again, Dean reasons internally, his parents kicked him out- not God. 

Conversation breaks out as everyone starts eating. Sonny starts explaining their eating habits and how he sets the table and serves their food himself to ensure that everyone gets at least one good serving before the monsters go in for seconds. Feeding teenage boys is a lot like feeding livestock, he jokes, and mom laughs along, fully understanding and explaining how Dean and Sam are almost always fighting over the last serving of anything, even if they’re already stuffed.

Dean had been unsure how the boys would handle mom’s presence; getting a glimpse into his “normal” life, basically, but they all seem to be their usual selves. Sitting down for dinner hadn’t been on his agenda because he didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, but dinner is no different than usual. He pulls the breadstick basket closer to Jack so he can get one, pushes it back towards Benny so he can do the same, and catches himself smiling as Aaron goes on a rant about how lame his bar mitzvah party was going to be- how his neighbor was going to have a live band at his but all his parents could guarantee him was _maybe_ that one weird dude in the congregation who claimed to be able to do magic tricks. 

The whole time, Castiel stays silent. That’s nothing new; he usually just observes the conversation, only saying anything when asked, even keeping those answers clipped and to the point. Dean feels his gaze on him a few times, though, and whenever he looks back Castiel holds it steady, not embarrassed at all to be caught. When they break, Dean manages to breathe a sigh of relief. He also sees Castiel looking at his mom with a bit of wonder and curiosity. Dean figures that his mom is an anomaly to these boys. A breath of fresh air.

He kinda likes that she can provide that to them. 

When all the boys are full, they still disperse to get cleaned up, Sonny telling them to change out of their grubby clothes so they don’t get any muck on any of the treats. Mom insists she helps Sonny clean up, which leaves Dean with nothing to do. So, of course, he sets out into the backyard to make his way to the corral. It’s empty. He climbs the fence, dropping in, mindful of the fact he can’t get too dirty in these clothes. Walking to the edge of the corral he sees a few horses in the distance; clicking his teeth, he calls out, “Baby!”, watching as one horse breaks away from the others. 

Backing into the corral, Dean grins as Baby follows him, snuffling and snorting, ears perked in interest. Once she’s close enough he gets up on the corral fence to sit, back to the house so he can be on her level as he pets her. She nearly pushes him off of the fence when she nuzzles his chest and sniffs his hands, looking for treats. Laughing, Dean ruffles her ears and coos at her, enjoying that she seems to be excited to see him.

“Hey, girl,” he greets softly. She rears her head back a bit, then walks closer to press her weight against his legs. It’s not too bad, which he’s grateful for. “Miss me?” She makes another disgruntled noise, bobbing her head up and down. 

He hears his mom’s laughter close by. Turning, he sees her approaching him and Baby, her eyes bright and her smile wide. “Well, look at that!” 

Grinning huge, Dean pats Baby’s neck lovingly. “This is Baby, ma. We’re buddies now.”

“I see that,” mom says. She climbs up the fence to stand on the bottom board, bracing herself and leaning forward to give Baby an affectionate pat. “Is she the one you’ll be learning on?” 

“Dunno,” he replies. “Cas says no one’s ridden her yet. They’ve only had her a couple months.” 

“Maybe he can train you both,” she suggests. 

Dean’s ears burn at the suggestion of Castiel _training_ him. “Maybe,” he mumbles. 

They sit in silence, both petting Baby, who preens at the attention and wanders back and forth between them, tail swishing as she occasionally shakes her head and snuffles.

“We should be getting back,” mom finally says, a tone of regret in her voice. “I have to get home so I can get ready to go to bed. Work starts early.” 

“How’s that goin’?” Dean asks, looking at his mom as she threads her fingers through Baby’s slightly tangled mane. 

“Better than I expected,” mom admits. “Long hours, though.” 

“And…” he licks his lips, an uncomfortable feeling swirling in his belly even though he knows he has to ask. “How’s dad?” 

“Out of the house during the day,” mom says, “either looking for work or getting drunk.” She sighs, looking towards her son. “I shouldn’t be putting this on you, Dean.” 

“Who else you gonna put it on?” he demands softly. “I know what you’re going through, mom. You don’t gotta hide it from me.” 

She leans over to gently bump their shoulders together. “You’re growing up too fast, Dean. Slow down.” 

“I’m worried about you,” he says quietly. “You home alone with him.”

“It’s not so bad,” she says. “He sleeps on the couch at night and I’m at work during the day.” 

Staring at Baby’s huge eye, Dean says, “Shouldn’t be like that.” 

“You’re right,” mom says simply, “but it is. And he knows it’s his fault, too, honey. He just doesn’t know how to fix it.”

“You’ve told him how to fix it,” Dean does his best not to snap, but his tone comes out testy.

“I can give him the tools, sweetheart, but he’s got to be the one to use them.” 

Thinking hard about that, Dean sighs. “Yeah. Guess so.” 

Another few moments pass. “Castiel seems like a nice boy.” 

Dean squints at her, confused at the subject change. “If you like the quiet and broody type, sure.” 

She sends Dean a knowing smile. “Sonny has told me all these boy’s stories, you know.” 

“Ugh, I had to ask them,” Dean whines. 

Mom’s laugh is melodious as it twinkles around them like stars. “There seems to be a theme here.” 

“Boys with shitty parents who don’t want them to be their true selves?” 

“Forgiving your curse, that’s a very good insight, Dean,” mom says with a nod. She says nothing else, deliberately choosing not to elaborate on her statement, which Dean is perfectly fine with. He knows the lesson, here. “Really, though. We should go. Come on.” She pats Baby’s neck warmly. “See you later, Baby.”

They both hop down from the fence. Dean drapes an arm across her shoulders, her hand coming up to hold his as they stroll back around the house. Sonny and the boys wave them off, Castiel absent from them. Dean’s not sure what it means, but it sort of tugs at that _thing_ inside him again. As he and mom walk back to grandma and grandpa’s in the twilight, mom tucked into his side and his cheek on her sun-warmed blonde locks, he finds himself immensely grateful that no matter what, he has his mom and his snotty little brother. 

He’s not sure at all what he would do without them. 

\--

The next morning Castiel seems especially… prickly at breakfast. The other boys talk about how nice Dean's mom is and compliment their baking- which appears on the table, toasted with butter to go along with their eggs and bacon. Dean takes the praise with a small smile and a flush on his cheeks, shrugging and serving Jack a hot slice of banana bread when he asks for one.

Castiel doesn't say a word. 

Everyone breaks for the day. Dean is Castiel's shadow again, working diligently alongside him. Whatever's eating him doesn't affect how hard he works, so Dean settles with silence as they scoop and heft and haul. By the time lunch comes around Dean's parched, pulling his hat off to fan himself with it.

"Scorching tod-" he realizes Castiel is already heading towards the house. He cuts himself off, frowning after the boy and then grumbling to himself. He calls him an ass mentally, keeping the insult to himself in case Castiel has super hearing and a knife on his person.

Inside, Castiel’s mood is palpable. The boys are a little more reserved at lunch because of it, though Sonny seems unbothered. An adult has a special kind of immunity towards a kid's attitude. Dean wishes he could learn that sort of apathy, because Castiel’s moodiness is really grating on him. He doesn’t talk, then when he does talk it’s snappy. Even poor little Jack gets on the wrong end of a “elbows off of the table” scold, causing the little boy to tear up and frown into his chicken noodle soup. Shooting an unconcealed glare at Castiel, Dean shifts to help Jack bring his legs up under him so he can sit on his knees, now able to reach the soup better without having to slurp it up. Castiel meets his glare coolly, and when it looks like he has something to say about Jack not sitting in his chair properly, Sonny swoops in to tell the boys he has to head into town during the afternoon shift. 

The boys flee like roaches when lunch is over, scattering in every direction that leads outside. Castiel and Dean are left behind, helping Sonny clean up. Dishes clank, elbows bump; Dean wipes down the table as Castiel finishes taking the stacks of dishes to Sonny, setting them carefully on the table.

“You boys will start riding lessons tonight,” Sonny says. Castiel opens his mouth, cut off when Sonny holds a spatula threateningly towards him with an arched brow. “My word is final, son. Dean’s been a good sport, volunteering his time here. You say he and Baby are best buds now. Time for him to get on her back.” 

Shoulders nearly up to his ears, Castiel nods, eyes on the floor and fingers clenched at his sides. Dean looks between the two; he’s never heard Sonny raise his voice at any of the boys, and this is no exception. He’s stern and firm and all these boys respect him enough to never get him to that level. Even though Castiel is clearly pissed about something he doesn’t sass Sonny, just nods and agrees to whatever it is Sonny wants him to do.

“Now git,” Sonny says to both of them.

Dean scurries. Castiel follows at a more leisurely pace. With their boots and hats back on they head into the sunshine to make their daily perimeter check, a good two feet of space between them. Dean shouldn’t have gotten used to bumping shoulders with the other boy, shouldn’t have found comfort in his stoic companionship. These boys are damaged, each in their own way, and no matter how nicely they play with Dean, something like this was bound to happen. He’s sorta bummed it’s Castiel, given the fact he’s gotta be his shadow day in and day out, but then again… it kinda makes sense. As the oldest, he keeps it together for everyone. As the only one that operates the farm year round for the past three years… Dean’s surprised he hasn’t seen his grumpy face sooner. 

Halfway through the perimeter check, Castiel stops walking. He lets out a big sigh, tipping his head back and taking his hat off as he looks up at the sky. Clouds roll lazily over the mountains in the distance to make their way to the valley where the farm is, puffy and white and peaceful. Wildflowers, rolling hills, and buttery soft sunshine. Castiel spends a few moments just staring at the clouds, his breathing deep and even; Dean just watches him, taking his own hat off because it feels like the right thing to do. He, too, looks up at the clouds, finding a bit of calm in them as well. He’s never really taken the time to just sit and skygaze, but he supposes out here, on a farm that has one crappy television and isn’t close enough to anyone their age to play with, the boys get inventive in how they pass time. 

“I apologize,” Castiel’s deep voice finally says. Dean lowers his chin so he can look at him. Castiel’s eyes are still on the clouds. “I’ve been very rude all day. It’s been inappropriate. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.” 

Shrugging a little, Dean plops his hat back on his head. “We’ve all got bad days, buddy. You don’t gotta apologize.”

“My mother used to bake,” the older boy murmurs. 

Even the wind stills with Dean’s breath. 

“For the church,” Castiel clarifies. “I was never allowed to help her. ‘That’s a woman’s job’, my father would say. Anything considered to be feminine was not something I could do. It…” his fingers flex at his side. “It always confused me, these ‘gender norms’ that people were expected to follow. Why should baking be a woman’s profession? The baker we bought bread from was a man. The florist shop was run by a couple. The home economics teacher at the high school was male. A lot of fashion designers out in Hollywood are male. My father telling me that I couldn’t assist my mother in the kitchen… confused me.”

He swallows. “When I was ten, I had a friend named Alfie. His mother was very kind. Alfie liked to play dress up with his parent’s old clothes, including his mother’s. She always encouraged him.” His fingers lift to trace over his pink lips, blue eyes softer than the afternoon sky. “I put on her lipstick and felt… pretty. However, I missed a spot when I took it off. My father…” Letting out a humorless chuckle, Castiel turns over his left arm to the vulnerable pale underside, showing off a series of circular scars. “...put his cigars out on me for three days straight.” 

Dean’s breath hitches. 

Castiel takes his hat off to run his fingers through his hair, letting out a bigger sigh, this one much less frustrated than the one he let out before. “I was mad, Dean, because your mother allows you to be yourself unapologetically. You like to bake, so she bakes with you. You want to be a cowboy, so she allows you to work here. What I would give to have been accepted…” 

Reaching out, Dean’s hand gently lays over Castiel’s to cover his white knuckles and prevent him from bending the brim of his hat. “Hey, man. I… I don’t really know what to say to all that. It’s really fucked up that that happened to you. You didn’t deserve it- you were a kid. You were havin’ fun. That’s not punishable. It’s not your fault. I don’t like speakin’ ill of people I don’t know but your parents sound like real dicks.” 

Chuckling with a bit more life now, Castiel turns to finally look at Dean. The smile on his lips is small. Dean wonders what color of lipstick he chose… red? Pink? Maybe the color that sort of looks like orange in some light and pink in different light? Dean thinks any color would suit Castiel and his rich, tan skin. Any color would bring out his eyes. Any color…

Suddenly Castiel is in Dean’s space. They’re sharing breath, the clouds rolling over them lazily and casting shadows that dance over their hair and shoulders. Dean’s hand is still holding Castiel’s, his grip soft so he doesn’t make the other boy lose his hat. Their noses are so close to touching. That _pull_ in Dean’s chest is tugging him directly into Castiel, hook line and sinker, the other boy reeling him in with little difficulty. He thinks he should be scared. Confused, maybe. He thinks that his first kiss should maybe happen during something mundane, like a school dance, with a girl dressed up prettily with clips in her hair but… all he can see in front of him is Castiel, with his straight nose and pink lips and dark eyes and- 

To their left, a loud snuffle breaks them apart. Dean yelps, because he’s graceful like that, while Castiel merely pulls away. It’s Baby approaching them, her head bobbing as she walks, tail flicking curiously. Their hands break. Their breaths return to normal. Letting out a delirious laugh, Dean smiles at Castiel to try and reassure him that whatever just happened is ok. Castiel looks a little unsure, a little shy, two emotions Dean’s never seen on him before. Heart thumping, Dean just sends him another brave, toothy smile, putting on his hat as Baby pushes her snout into his shoulder.

“Hey, Baby,” Dean greets her. 

Looking considerably less cranky and newly, slightly pleased, Castiel nods. “She can join us on our fence check.” 

“Hear that you big brat? C’mon. You can walk with us.”

Castiel goes back to being his quiet self, although as they walk Dean’s pleased to note that he’s not his cranky quiet self. 

No, Castiel actually looks… quiet comfortable in his skin. 

It’s a good look.

\--

“It’s important to know every muscle shift, every movement the horse makes,” Castiel explains as he hands a thick blanket to Dean. The pattern is chevron blues and reds, looking like something from the nearest Native American Pendleton shop. It’s thick in Dean’s hands, comfortable and heavy. “That is why you are going to learn how to bareback before you put a saddle on her. Also,” Castiel looks at Baby consideringly, “we don’t know if she has been ridden at all, so it’s best to start off like this. If you need to bail you won’t get tangled up in anything.”

“Ha, ha,” Dean fake nervous laughs, even though butterflies swoop in his stomach at the thought of needing to bail for any reason. 

“Drape it over her and try to get it as even as possible on either side,” Castiel says. He rounds Baby, “I’ll help on this side.” 

Together they get the blanket folded and draped over Baby’s back. She shifts her weight a little but otherwise doesn’ seem too perturbed. Castiel then shows how to turn the rope bridle into a proper bridle with reins, explaining that keeping everything simple for now will be to everyone’s benefit. After Baby gets acclimated to this, he says, then they can try a saddle and a leather bridle with a bit. 

Climbing up onto the corral fence, Dean grips the reins in one hand as he leans closer to Baby. Castiel is on her other side, one hand on her neck and the other on her side, bracing her slightly. He commands “woah” and “stand” every time she tries to move, and even though this horse is the size of a car, Dean feels… surprisingly safe with Castiel on the other side of her. 

Very carefully, Dean leans forward with his leg extended. It takes a bit of a leap off of the fence, but then he’s on her back in the blink of an eye, her strong frame between his legs, reins in his hands, and no injuries to speak of. Grinning, Dean shoots a laugh down at Castiel, disbelief written over both of their features.

“Hey!” Dean laughs when he sees his expression mirrored over Castiel’s face. “You’re supposed to be the confident one!” 

“This could have gone either way,” Castiel says a bit dryly, though there’s a tiny smile stretching his features. “She’s doing very well.”

“That’s my Baby,” Dean coos, reaching to pat the horse’s neck affectionately. She snorts and snuffles, shifting her weight again. 

“Remember,” Castiel says. “Pull straight back on the reins and say ‘woah’ to stop. Lead her either way with a tug on the dominant hand. Lead her with your knees and legs, too. Meld your body with hers. You’ll feel every muscle… in both your bodies. If she picks up pace and you’re comfortable with it, try bouncing along with her- your butt will thank you later for it.” He smirks. “Either way, you’re going to be sore in the morning.”

“Worth it,” Dean immediately says. 

“Let’s stay in the corral for now,” Castiel suggests. “I’ll walk alongside you.”

Before working at the farm, Dean would have thought anyone crazy if they said they’d walk alongside a beast this big inside a pen. The sheer size of the horse compared to even a grown man is bound to be a little scary. But seeing Castiel so confident with them, and then learning how to be confident on his own… even Dean walks into the corral alone when the horses are in there, talking to them and pushing them around if they get too bratty. No matter what, as long as the horses are respected, they will respect in turn. 

Feeling Baby move between his legs is… well, frankly, strange at first. He feels his own body moving and stretching in ways he’s never felt before. At Castiel’s direction he loosens his tight grip on the reins for now, also feeling Baby relax a little. They walk in slow circles, Castiel directing them from the left side, which is also the side where he can access the corral fence easily if things go awry. Baby does well, bobbing along at a slow pace, seemingly content to have a rider. Dean knows that at fourteen he’s kinda scraggly and nothing compared to a grown man, so maybe he just feels like an odd leaf draped over her back. 

“How does it feel?” Castiel asks. 

Looking down at him, Dean smiles. “Really good. Weird, but good.” 

Nodding, Castiel lifts a hand to pat Baby’s flank. The action spurs her into a slightly faster trot, Dean letting out a surprised noise at the change of pace. He doesn’t pull on the reins though; he adjusts his seat, fixes his posture, and feels his body complement the new, faster movement. It comes natural, he finds, when he allows himself to feel how _Baby_ moves. Fascinating. Castiel, the little shit, pulls himself up onto the fence to sit on the top, watching Dean and Baby trot in wide circles around the corral.

After about twenty minutes of riding, Castiel calls out ‘woah’. Baby slows on her own, Dean slightly pulls on her reins, and then they stop in front of Castiel, who is smiling, probably the biggest Dean’s ever seen. 

“That’s enough for now. Your body needs to acclimate as well, Dean,” he explains.

“Right,” Dean says. He shifts and swings his leg to dismount; when both feet are solidly on the ground he bends over with a slight wheeze, now fully feeling the stretch in his groin and thighs. He puts his hands on his hips, groans, then whines a little when it feels like he can’t straighten. 

“Move quickly, Dean,” Castiel says, not giving him a break, because he never does. “Baby needs her bridle and blanket taken off.”

“Yep,” Dean says through his teeth. He waddles towards Baby, first taking off the blanket with a tug, folding it up and putting it on one of the fence posts. He then reaches for her bridle; she snuffles his head, knocking off his hat so she can chew at the long hair on top of his head. “Hey- you brat,” Dean tries to scold, but he just ends up laughing. He gets her bridle off, she bumps her nostrils against his forehead and snuffs so heavy a bit of snot gets on his face, and then she turns to trot out of the corral to go out into the fields. “Butthead,” Dean grumbles as he turns around to get the blanket and put everything away in the tack shed.

When he waddles back to Castiel, he sees the other boy trying desperately not to laugh. But his lips are twitching and his eyes are bright as the rising moon, and Dean can’t help but let a smile curl his own lips. 

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up Chuckles,” he grouses. 

Shrugging, Castiel bites his lower lip and then ducks his head, looking at Dean through long, dark lashes. It steals his breath. Why does it steal his breath? 

“Goodnight, Dean.” 

“Goodnight, Cas.” 

What is this dazed feeling?


	4. Chapter 4

On the drive to mom and dad’s, Mary fidgeted slightly in her seat. It had been two weeks since she’d been able to see Dean; the supermarket was busy since school had been let out and parents had to feed their children multiple times a day, so she offered to pick up more hours. Her boss had been infinitely grateful, and when she’d gotten her first full paycheck, the thrill of having that much money to go towards bills had settled deep within her bones. 

Working full time was a blessing. 

Since the boys left, her relationship with John had only gotten rockier, however. It broke her heart to see her once full-of-life husband on the down and out, drinking first thing in the morning and only half-ass looking for jobs. Seeing the dullness in his eyes, the listlessness in his gait, Mary wondered where her husband went, and if she would ever get him back. 

She moved a hand from the steering wheel to pull down the sleeve of her dress. She couldn’t let Dean see the bruises. Her boy was protective and had a short fuse when it came to John laying his hands on her, and this far separated from his father, she had no idea how Dean would outlet his anger if he saw. 

At least the bruise on her face had faded enough to be covered with makeup. 

Pulling up to her parent’s house, Mary parked her car in the large u-turn driveway. She had no gifts for Dean this time, since she’d gotten a call from her son the previous night declaring that if she brought him a gift he would be mad at her. Childish and stubborn, she’d obeyed, even though she’d been thinking about it. 

Getting out of the car, she looked up to see Dean coming out onto the front porch. Oh, her boy grew every time she saw him. Even from this distance she could see how bright and smart his eyes were, aged beyond his years. His smile was still boyish and beautiful, his narrow teeth flashing prettily and the dimple in his cheek shadowed by the sun. He was wearing the Stetson Mary had gifted him, the rest of his clothes clean and filled out by his developing muscles. 

He was growing into a young man, and she was missing it. 

“Hey, baby,” she called out as she shut the door to her car. 

Dean jogged down the steps. His Stetson smartly matched his red checked button-up and dark pants. He truly looked like a young cowboy, fresh with youth and brought to seed by the wildflowers, rolling hills, and summer sun. He said a soft, reverent “hey ma” and then drew her into his embrace. He’d grown vertically, too, she noted as she pressed her cheek into his collarbones. One hand on her back, one hand on her head, Dean hugged her like she was fragile. She blinked the tears away, smiling and fretting a little over her emotions. Dean was safe here. Dean was flourishing here. It hurt her aching mother’s heart to be apart from her sons, but this was for the best. 

Pulling away, she looked up at her son. She cupped either side of his face in her hands so she could examine him up close. The wide brim of the hat framed him handsomely, casting lovely shadows over his cheekbones and jaw. 

“Look at you. You’re not my little boy anymore.” 

He let out a bashful chuckle, always the type to squirm under her compliments. “C’mon, ma.” 

“It’s true!” She said, lightening her own mood to cover up the way her heart squeezed. “You’re a young man, now. Have you looked in a mirror?” 

“Don’t see nothin’ different,” he said modestly. 

“Mhm,” Mary said with a twinkle in her eye. “Escort me into the house, young man. I’d like to get out of this heat and put my feet up.” 

“Of course, milady,” Dean said graciously.

Inside, mom and dad fret over her. Mary had said she’d be up every weekend or so, but since she’d missed the last two, they were concerned. She explained that she had been busy with work, moving into a full time position because they needed the coverage. Mom had sent her a contemplative look, while Dean, blessed Dean, had told her that as long as she was sleeping at night and eating well, working full time would be the best bet as the only income in the household.

Truly, Dean was getting to be beyond his years. She wondered what life was like at Sonny’s farm, for him to mature so much in just a month. 

She and Dean moved out towards the orchard to start plucking apples. Dean told her that the boys loved their treats and tried to make them last as long as possible, but they were so delicious they had been gone within two days. He also said that the boys liked her very much, then speculated it was because they didn’t have their own moms to dote on them. Mary was flattered and fond of these boys she’d only met once and heard tales of from Dean. 

“Let’s make them some more treats, hm? What was their favorite?” 

“Banana bread,” Dean said quickly. “That was popular for breakfast. No one ate it at any other time.” 

“Then let’s make enough loaves to last the week,” Mary declared.

They finished picking apples from the trees, bringing them inside. Together they worked on putting together the treats; Dean rolled out the dough for the pies (Mary could never get away with not making pie when it came to her son) while Mary got the banana bread into the oven. She watched her boy for a moment, taking him in. He worked with the same determination he always did, focused on the singular task in front of him. He rolled up the dough on the roller and draped it into the pie tin, then started working on the next ball. Bringing herself out of her reverie, Mary started to slice the apples. She knew she missed her children - she always did even when they were gone for the day - but living so separately from them… it had been wearing her down a bit. 

They were thriving while she was wilting. 

Sam would be home the next week from camp, only for Mary to pack him up and bring him out here as well. Seeing Jack, Castiel’s little brother, affirmed that if Sam did choose to help Sonny, there would be someone there his age for him. Not that Dean or Sam had any issues hanging out with each other; but Mary heard only ‘Cas this’ and ‘Cas that’ from her phone calls with Dean and something told her that she, firstly, shouldn’t ask for details unless he gave them to her freely, and secondly, shouldn’t dump little Sammy on Dean during this time of… exploration. 

No, Mary wasn’t blind to what her son was going through. To what her son had been going through for perhaps the past two years. She hadn’t been kidding when she brought up his fascination with Clint Eastwood and the other cowboys. Dean hadn’t had his eyes open enough at the time to understand what she’d been inferencing, but during her last visit she knew that the message started to get to him. 

It wasn’t the fact that there were no girls on the farm to talk to, she knew. Dean had always had plenty of friends, boys and girls, and he never talked about any of them like he did Castiel. She wondered if he even knew how he talked about Castiel. There was idolization, sure, because Castiel was older and basically the young cowboy Dean always wanted to be. But there was also something else. Especially after a suspicious phone call one night where Dean said Castiel had been cranky all day before telling him about the issues he had with his parents and learning of his preferences at a young age, and Dean offering his support so vehemently… he had even gotten worked up talking to Mary over the phone.

Her precious boy. 

His heart was so big, she wondered how he could fit all of his genuine love and care into it and then spread it to so many. 

It took a few hours to get everything baked up. Mom’s double oven helped considerably, and Mary didn’t miss her subtle invitation to use it at any time, especially if Mary chose to stay. Mom’s know everything, Mary knew- especially since she became one herself. She knew that her mom didn’t miss any of Mary’s nuances; slumped shoulders, perking only whenever Dean looked at her; the tiredness in her eyes; the sadness in the downturn of her lips. 

Mary reassured her mother she was fine.

Together she and Dean walked over to Sonny’s, loaded basket in hand. The sun was bright and beautiful, bathing her in some much needed vitamin D. Her hair warmed, her shoulders warmed, and the breeze swished through her skirt to pass over her legs. It was always beautiful up here. Her and Dean played back and forth, chatting about this and that, her suggesting that he was missing all the good television shows and him surprising her by saying he didn’t miss television that much, actually. 

Sundays at Sonny’s were as busy as any other day of the week. Mary and Dean entered the house and made their way to the kitchen, calling out to Sonny with no reply. Dean insisted that it was ok, so they started to set up the treats attractively like they had last weekend. Jack must have heard Dean’s call from the nearby chicken coop, because he came in through the backdoor and barely kicked off his boots before making a beeline for him. 

“Dean!” 

“Hey there buddy,” Dean said, ruffling Jack’s hair. “S’almost lunch time. Where is everyone?” 

“Busy,” the boy replied, reaching out for a banana bread. 

Dean playfully slapped his hand away. “Nuh-uh. You wash up and wait for the other boys to come in so we can get lunch started.” 

Jack pouted, making his way to the sink. 

Mary looked around, hands on her hips. “Isn’t Sonny usually preparing lunch for the boys?” 

“He’s in town,” Jack said, splashing water down his front. “We have to make our own lunch today.” 

“That’s no fun,” Dean said. Mary knew full well Dean sympathized with how hard the boys were working and how nice it was to not have to prepare their own food. “We’ll do it, huh ma?” 

Blinking in surprise, Mary then nodded and smiled. “Let’s get on it.” 

It took a bit of navigating. It seemed even Dean didn’t know where everything was located in the kitchen, though after this he’ll be able to move it around it like a pro. Together they set out plates, glasses, a pitcher of ice water and napkins. They then rummaged around the fridge to find sandwich fixings, procuring condiments and vegetables. Mary sliced up the vegetables while Dean scoured for bread, and then they both had the table set and ready for a bunch of teenage boys to come in and demolish it. 

The clock hit eleven a.m.; Dean moved to the back door, putting his fingers into his mouth and whistling loud enough to disturb the birds. Jack seated himself at the table, waiting patiently. It didn’t take long for the boys to appear, commotion and chaos at the back door as they took off their boots and hung their hats. Once inside, they all seemed surprised to see Dean and Mary, but then immediately declared their joy and excitement. Dean and Mary had eaten lunch at mom and dad’s house, so they hovered around, making themselves available to get whatever item they didn’t set out that a boy asked for. 

Mary caught the look Castiel sent Dean, feeling her own cheeks heat up. Castiel looked _pleased_ to see Dean on a day he didn’t expect to. And oh, her boy just sent him a warm smile, a small one so unlike his usual boisterous self. 

Feeling butterflies in her stomach, Mary walked around the table to refill empty glasses and then refill the pitcher herself. All of these boys were loud and rambunctious, but polite in the presence of a lady. It was remarkable. Even knowing all of their backstories, Mary marveled at the fact that they were all so… well, normal. Sonny had said, way back in the beginning, that none of his boys were hooligans, and Mary hadn’t really believed him at the time. But here, now, able to see how the boys responded to each other and talked, she knew Sonny had been right, and she could also see how Dean fit right in.

“You look nice, Dean,” Jack said during a lull in conversation. “That’s a fancy hat!” 

Dean took the compliment with grace. “Thanks, buddy. Ma got me this hat.” He sent a bright smile her way. “Thought I’d dress up for her visit.” 

“You look like a real gentleman,” Jack says solemnly. 

Then Dean’s cheeks heated up, a little chuckle leaving his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I clean up alright.” 

Mary snuck a glance at Castiel, who was eating at a much more moderate pace compared to Benny and Aaron, who seemed content to eat quickly and then get back out to work. Castiel’s eyes were looking Dean over from head to toe, which her son was entirely oblivious to. Not wanting to get caught, Mary turned a little to start clean up. It wasn’t something she should intrude on, whatever was blossoming between her son and the handsome, quiet boy. Castiel had a rough upbringing but from what she knew from Dean’s calls and what she saw herself, she knew he was a good kid. Thoughtful and respectful and responsible. There was nothing inappropriate in his gaze on her son, just a bit of wonder and curiosity and an unbridled affection so beautifully polished by youth.

Though, she was well aware of what normally went through a teenage boy’s head. 

Smiling to herself, she heard Benny and Aaron excuse themselves. She turned to acknowledge their thanks, then watched as Jack also excused himself from the table. 

Dean sat down in Jack’s empty chair to ask Castiel something. Their conversation wasn’t particularly private, but it was quiet, her only able to hear their murmuring and not specific words. But their tones to each other… that was special. Her heart squeezed. She wondered if they knew what was happening between them. 

After a few moments, she heard movement from the chairs. Turning, she smiled warmly at Castiel, who thanked her politely and then left out the back door. 

“This was real nice,” Dean said as he started clearing the table. “Sonny hasn’t been gone for a meal yet when I’ve been here. If I hadn’t called ‘em in those guys woulda worked right through lunch.” 

“You’re quite the asset to the team,” Mary complimented. 

Dean shrugged, but didn’t refute the comment. “They’re good guys. I like ‘em.” 

Wanting to ask about Castiel but holding herself back at the last minute, she instead said, “Let’s get all of this cleaned up and then go back to grandma’s. I’ll have to leave in a few hours.”

Dean pouted, but nodded. “Alright, ma.”

\--

Back at mom and dad’s, Mary started to get antsy. Going back home was getting harder and harder; whether it was time to clock off at work or even during times like these, when she had to say goodbye to her parents and Dean. John was… well, he was increasingly unpleasant to be around, and though Mary had stood up to him a few times, there was no escaping the bottle and his physical strength. 

At the end of the night Mary hugged her son tightly, pressing her face to his chest. He kissed the top of her head, squeezed her until she couldn’t breathe, and then pulled back with a smile… that quickly faded.

“Ma…” 

Mary frowned in confusion. He was focused on a specific spot on her face. She reached up to touch the tender, swollen area. Her eyes dropped to his shirt, where she could see the blur of makeup pressed into the fabric. The moment turned from sweet to scary in an instant- Dean could see the bruise on her cheekbone in all its ugly yellowish-purple glory. 

“Dean-”

“ _Mom_.” Dean said firmly. “He’s hitting your face?” 

“It was once,” Mary quickly said. 

“One time is too many!” Dean said, getting worked up. His cheeks flushed, his eyes going dark. “The hell does he think he’s doing?” 

Feeling her throat close up, heaviness spread from her chest to her belly. “I barely see him, Dean, I’m working-” 

“Mom!” Dean took her firmly by the shoulders, though not roughly. He searched her eyes, his features finally morphing into her little boy’s, scared and concerned. “You gotta kick him out mom. Or pack your bags and come here. Or- anything that gets him away from you.” 

“I can’t,” Mary whispered. 

“Stop that!” Dean hissed. “Mom, stop. You can’t let him win. You can’t let him treat you like this or be the reason you send us away.” 

“I’m not-” she hiccuped, feeling the anxiety spiral through her and grip her vocal cords. “I’m not _sending you away_ , Dean-”

“No?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“You wanted to be here, remember?” she asked, voice trembling as she reached up to cup her son’s face. Her fingers shook where they landed. “To be a cowboy.”

“Sammy never asked to be here,” Dean said, his own voice softening a fraction. “Mom, please.” 

For a moment, they stared at each other, anxiety and sadness and fear on a feedback loop between their gazes. She knew Dean could feel every emotion she could; knew that he knew every time she left this place, she was going back into a wolf’s den. He held her so tightly, so surely, so safely- her sweet baby boy, her _young man_ , her son that would do anything for her. 

After a moment, she whispered, “Next weekend when I bring Sammy, I’ll stay.” She’ll be jobless and totally dependent on her parents, but she knew they wouldn’t mind. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Dean breathed, bringing her back into his comforting embrace. His fingers tangled in her hair at the back of her head, keeping her safe and tucked in tight. “I’ll take care of you, ma. You just gotta let me.” 

Nodding against his chest, Mary knew this was a decision she would stick to.

She would choose her boys over anyone and anything, every time.


	5. Chapter 5

On Tuesday, Dean and grandma and grandpa work on clearing out the second guest room for mom. He’s excited and elated that she’ll finally be coming up to _stay_ , to get away from his asshole drunk abusive sorry excuse of a father. This arrangement will mean that he and Sam will have to share a room, but he doesn’t mind. This will be fine for the summer. Mom will have to quit her job, which sucks, but at the same time… Dean would rather her be happy and safe than miserable and scared. 

Dad can drown in debt for all Dean cares. 

At the farm, Dean gains more independence. Castiel has them break apart frequently to work on separate things, but they still do the tough tasks together. Now that Dean is comfortable riding on Baby he’s able to ride the perimeter to check on the fence line, the task now going way faster. He’s still bareback on a blanket, unsure about strapping a saddle to her, but Castiel says that’s ok. Helps one be more in tune with the horse, or whatever hippie thing he’d said to Dean when he revealed his preference. 

As for Castiel… Dean still feels that pull, that something in his chest that draws him to the other boy like a magnet. Their fingers brush more, their shoulders bump more, their gazes catch more. Dean thinks Castiel’s eyes are like wildflowers, knows he’s sturdy as the rolling hills, feels his presence like buttery soft sunshine. He’s not confused about these feelings and thoughts about Castiel, not scared of them; he just doesn’t know how to move forward. He thinks he’ll figure it out soon, though. 

On Friday, Dean leaves the farm nearly skipping. Tomorrow mom and Sam will be here and things will be perfect. Sammy can help out on the farm if he wants, though Dean really hopes he does, because Jack could use a friend his age. Plus, Sammy’s smart but he’s also handy, so he’d definitely be an asset to the team, but don’t tell him that Dean feels that way. 

Saturday morning, Dean wakes up with the sun, as usual. He can’t even sleep in anymore, too used to the farm schedule. Normally he’d grumble and complain about that. But waking up with the sun in the countryside… it’s truly something special, he realizes. The sunrise over the valley, the swaying of wildflowers and the lazy roll of the clouds…. It’s incredible. He feels a bit like a sap for thinking that way, but no one makes fun of it. Grandma Deanna just looks at him with a knowing glint in her eye, and grandpa nods his head in solidarity. All three of them have watched quite a few sunrises on the porch together. 

Hours pass. It’s nearly noon, and Dean is antsy. Mom and Sam should be here any time, now. He’s tidied up her guest room a dozen times, made sure that Sam’s bed would be nice and soft and fresh for him to flop onto. He starts baking more banana bread for the boys, translating his anxiety into baking because that’s at least productive. 

At half-past three, a knock sounds on the front door. 

Odd.

Mom would just walk right on in.

Poking his head out from the kitchen, he watches as grandpa heads to the door to answer it. When it swings open, Dean sees two police officers on the other side of the screen. 

Oh.

Oh, no.

He drops the bread pan, the glass shattering on the wood floor. 

Grandpa lets out a pained noise. The screen door opens, Sam barreling through, red-faced and soaked with tears as he looks around wildly like a spooked animal. On autopilot, Dean moves towards his little brother, who immediately lets out a wail when he sees him. Falling down onto his knees, Dean watches and listens with numb shock as the officers explain what happened. Grandma’s sobs drown out most of it, but Dean catches the drift:

John killed Mary last night. 

John killed himself.

Sam’s camp counselor couldn’t take him home this morning because the police were swarming the house. 

Sam climbs onto Dean’s lap, arms around his neck as he sobs. Dean’s arms wrap around him tightly. Is he crying? His eyes and face feel dry. He just stares at the officers as they offer their condolences to grandma and grandpa. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that on the floor, but Sam eventually cries himself to sleep, passing out from the stress and exhaustion of the day. Dean can’t feel his legs. 

Grandpa picks them both up. Dean feels tiny, Sam feels tinier. Dean at least gets his feet under them, letting grandpa carry most of his weight as he leads them to Dean’s bedroom. He tucks both boys under the covers of Dean’s bed, saying nothing as he cards his fingers tenderly through Sam’s shaggy hair. He leaves the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. 

Dean’s breathing quickens. His nose clogs. His eyes grow hot with tears. 

He’ll never see his mother again. 

The clouds lazily roll along the blue skies outside his bedroom window. 

His mother was everything.

Now she is everything. 

His mother is the sky, the valley, the mountains. 

She is the wildflowers, the rolling hills, the buttery soft sunshine.

Dean closes his eyes.

The scent of banana bread fills his senses. 

He wishes it were her perfume, instead.


	6. Chapter 6

_Fifteen years later…_

“Hoo- _wee _!”__

__When the dust settles, Dean takes off his Stetson, wiping his forehead. He smears dirt into the sweat but doesn’t care, smiling huge and panting as he puts the equally dusty hat back on his head. The calf he just roped squeals in displeasure, wriggling around on the ground._ _

__“Thirteen seconds,” Charlie announces from where she’s perched on the fence. “Now untie the poor thing!”_ _

__“I’m gettin’ on it!” Dean snaps, though there’s a smile on his face as he drops off his paint, patting her neck fondly as he walks away from her. The calf eyes him warily as he approaches, clearly and rightfully not trusting him. Reaching out, Dean stays as far away from it as possible as he snags his fingers in a rope loop, tugging and freeing the calf in one motion. It gets up on its spindly legs and then high tails it out of the now open gate, heading back to its family._ _

__Charlie hops off of the fence, walking towards Dean with a grin. “You’re getting faster.”_ _

__“It’s all in the wrist,” Dean says with a wink._ _

__“Ew,” Charlie sticks her tongue out. The summer sun highlights her red hair, bringing out the copper tones and nearly reflecting the light back off of them. She’s dressed down in jeans and boots, but her Hulk shirt broadcasts her as a nerd rather than a ranch hand. “You’re really pervy for a celibate.”_ _

__“Celibacy doesn’t ban me from my right hand,” Dean tosses at her as he grabs the pommel of the saddle and hefts himself back up onto his horse. “Garth has the cattle for the night, right?”_ _

__“Yep!” Charlie puts her phone back in her pocket, holding her hand up towards Dean. He hauls her up without hesitation, waiting for her to settle behind him before he trots out of the corral. “Speaking of celibacy, Lisa’s gonna have an aneurysm when you decline her date for like, the twelfth time.”_ _

__“Maybe she’ll get the hint,” Dean says casually._ _

__“Or you could just tell her that you don’t date?” Charlie suggests, a bit of sass in her voice. “People don’t get the celibacy thing but they’ll understand if you just tell them you don’t want a relationship.”_ _

__“But then that leads to friends with benefits questions, or one night stand suggestions,” Dean says, leading his horse around a few barrels for fun on the way to the stables._ _

__“Y’know, you make things really difficult for yourself,” Charlie muses. He hears her fingers snap, “Let’s permanently disfigure your face so people stop throwing themselves at you!”_ _

__“This is the third time you’ve suggested that, and this is the third time I’m giving you a hot ‘no’.”_ _

__“But I’d have so much fun doing it,” she pouts._ _

__“Alright, sociopath, that’s enough serial killer documentaries for one week.”_ _

__It doesn’t take long to get the horse racked up in the stables. Dean hefts her saddle from her back, putting it away on the nearby stand while Charlie removes her bridle and blanket. The horse is a beautiful tricolor paint; she was a rescue from a breeding corral two states over. Dean’s quite fond of her. He runs his palm up and down her snout affectionately, smiling broadly when she snorts into his chest._ _

__“You should name her,” Charlie says softly._ _

__Dean runs his hand down her neck. “Nah.”_ _

__“You should name all of them,” Charlie says a bit more firmly. “They’d respond better.”_ _

__“They respond just fine,” Dean says. They leave the stall, his gaze going down towards the other four stalls that contain a horse each. “Just gotta learn ‘em up is all.”_ _

__“Right, oh horse whisperer,” Charlie says with an eye roll._ _

__Together they walk towards Dean’s house. It’s a modest rancher on a forty-acre plot, his paradise among paradises. Mountains in the distance, a river that cuts through his property. Out here he has five horses, a llama, two goats, a chicken coop, and a small herd of cows. His house is alright, but all of his time and resources go into the farm to make sure it’s top notch and everything he and his animals need it to be. Charlie is his best friend; they met at an animal auction for rescued livestock, immediately bonding over their philanthropic love of animals. He hired her on as a hand five years ago. Along with his brother, the three of them have helped the farm flourish. Dean rehabs rescued livestock, reintroducing them to humans and getting them to trust again, and then donates them to whomever would like a rescued animal and that he knows will treat them well. He sells some of the cattle to a local butcher, but also keeps some of them for play and nature’s lawn mower._ _

__Charlie is good with animals, but she’s also scary talented with computers. She ensures that all the horses go to a good home, and she’d totally vetted the butcher before agreeing to sell to him. Said something about making sure he wasn’t running an ‘illegal operation in the back’. Dean told her to stop watching mafia movies._ _

__Inside the house, Dean calls out, “Dinner in twenty!”_ _

__“Got it!” Sam calls from… somewhere._ _

__In the mud room Dean kicks off his boots, propping open the door with his hip so he can clap the dirt off of them out on the porch. He puts them on the rack once they’re clean, tucks his feet into his house slippers, then hangs his Stetson on the hat rack, next to the hat his mother had given him when he’d been volunteering at Sonny’s boy’s home. He strokes a finger over to the old, worn black hat, sending up a bid to his mother in heaven before he makes his way into the main house. Charlie’s not as dirty so she heads to the kitchen, while Dean heads to the bathroom for a well-deserved shower._ _

__Potato soup has been warming in the crockpot all day. On busy days like this Dean likes to throw dinner together in the morning and let it cook as he works- crockpots are honestly one of humankind’s greatest inventions. Showering takes ten minutes. He slings his towel around his hips, ruffling his hair with his hands and examining himself in the mirror. He debates shaving, then decides it could wait a couple days._ _

__The doorbell rings._ _

__No one calls ‘got it!’, so Dean just assumes that it’s Garth giving him some sort of update. He loves the guy, but he’s a little… oblivious, at times. He’s seen Dean wearing less in way more compromising situations, so he makes his way out of the bathroom, chasing the steam down the hallway as he pads down the wood on bare, slightly wet feet. Swinging open the heavy door, Dean’s “what?” dies on his tongue when he sees the man standing on the other side of the screen._ _

__He’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere._ _

__They’ve drooped at the corners a bit with age, but they’re currently wide and up with raised eyebrows. Pink lips part, his greeting dying as well, and they just stare stupidly at each other, shocked._ _

__“Hey, tell Garth to spoil that calf extra-” Charlie comes out of the kitchen, cutting herself off when she takes in the scene in front of her._ _

__She’s only heard stories of Dean’s time at Sonny’s. All she knows is Dean barely made it an entire summer before his parents died and he and Sam got carted off to live with their uncle Bobby. It was during a drunken conversation that he told her about Castiel; about the older boy that taught Dean everything he knew, the older boy that made Dean feel butterflies, the older boy that Dean didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to._ _

__That boy is now a man, Dean sees, standing on his front porch wearing a soft looking sweater and dark denim jeans. He’s got black cowboy boots and a black Milano perched on his messy hair, the dark stubble on his features highlighting his pink lips and tan skin._ _

__“Holy towel Batman, don’t greet the guy naked!” Charlie says, breaking the stare-off._ _

__Blushing hotly, Dean reflexively grabs the towel where it’s bunched in on itself, his other hand gripping the door handle so tightly his knuckles are white. Charlie’s voice restarted his heart, the organ now trying to burst out of his chest to throw itself at Castiel’s feet, bloody and messy and begging for forgiveness._ _

__“Cas,” Dean finally says._ _

__Castiel lifts up a hand to touch the brim of his hat with a finger, nodding towards Charlie. “Miss.” His gaze turns towards Dean. “This… is a bad time. I can come back when it’s more appropriate.”_ _

__“No- shit, hold on. Let me put on some clothes. Come on in,” Dean says, finally unclenching his fingers from the door knob to reach out and push the screen door open._ _

__The other man is hesitant, looking between Dean and Charlie, before he relents and steps in. “Boots?”_ _

__Charlie looks down at them. “They’re clean! Keep ‘em on. Here’s the living room. Will you be staying for dinner?”_ _

__Again, Castiel looks unsurely between the two. He takes off his hat when he’s fully inside the house, wringing the brim in his hands. His hair is so messy, a bit shorter than how he kept it fifteen years ago, but now that Dean is older he thinks about it being messy because of someone carding their fingers through it and hates how that makes his gut twist._ _

__“I won’t be long,” Castiel finally says._ _

__“Alright,” Dean forces himself to say. “Gimme a minute.”_ _

__He turns around and walks briskly down the hallway to his bedroom, shutting the door and exhaling shakily. It’s hard to catch his breath, every last particle of air in his lungs stuck in front of Castiel. He quickly dresses in boxers, jeans and a t-shirt, running shaky fingers through his hair before exiting and nearly running into Sam._ _

__“Who’s here?” Sam asks, raising a pointed eyebrow at Dean’s effort to not wear his pajamas for the rest of the night._ _

__“Cas,” Dean hisses, waving a hand to try and stem Sam’s reaction._ _

__Sam helps, lifting a hand to cover his mouth. Damn, he’s grown. Taller than Dean now, though still floppy-haired and occasionally gullible, the pair of them filled out over the years. Dean’s broader than Sam, narrower at the waist, beefy in the shoulders and bow legged, whereas Sam is tall and limber. He doesn’t look as strong as he is, but it lends to his size as a veterinarian. They’re quite a team now._ _

__“Seriously?” Sam asks between his fingers._ _

__“Yes,” Dean says, shaking out his hands. “What do I do?”_ _

__“You definitely don’t tell him you’ve been saving yourself for fifteen years in the event he actually came back,” Sam says, tone of voice dead serious but mirth in his eyes._ _

__Dean punches him in the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up, Sam- I’m serious! What do I do?”_ _

__“I dunno, _talk_ to him?” Sam suggests, rubbing his shoulder and rolling his eyes. “Get out there or else I’m going to say hello first.”_ _

__“Fuck, I didn’t say hello,” Dean curses as he spins on heel to head down the hallway._ _

__Castiel is sitting politely on his sofa, looking around at everything. Dean’s house isn’t a bachelor pad by any means, but it’s also not the most prettily decorated place. The living room has a fireplace with a mantle, which he has decorated with pictures of his award-winning animals. The grey walls are punctuated with picture frames and collages of Dean, Sam, Charlie and other friends, as well as some specially placed photos of his mom, and even one picture of his dad before everything went wrong._ _

__“Hey Cas,” Sam greets on Dean’s heels, because he’s still an obnoxious little brother._ _

__Castiel turns to him, smiling fondly, though still looking surprised as he sees what he once knew as a knobby-kneed ten year old. “Hello, Sam.”_ _

__“I’m gonna help Charlie with dinner,” he says, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he heads towards the kitchen._ _

__Dinner doesn’t need anything else done to it. He knows their nosy asses are eavesdropping._ _

__“I uh,” Dean moves to sit down in the recliner adjacent to the couch. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to act like an idiot. You surprised me.”_ _

__A hesitant smile spreads on Castiel’s lips. “It’s alright, Dean. It’s good to see you.”_ _

__Nodding, Dean drums his fingers over his knee, trying not to be obvious about checking Castiel out. Dean knows he did a lot of growing up, but Castiel did, too. Which is like, duh, it’s been _fifteen years_ since they’ve seen each other; since their fingers brushed during perimeter checks, since Castiel high-fived him when he fixed a second tractor, since Castiel almost… _ _

__Castiel is _stacked_. Dean tries not to be a pervert but he can’t help it. The man is wearing a soft sweater but it does nothing to soften his edges. His face is angular and beautiful, sculpted by his facial hair. His shoulders and chest are broad, his waist firm, the material of the sweater hugging his frame nicely. His thighs… oh damn. Dean snaps his gaze away from his thighs, clearing his throat softly._ _

__“How’d you find me?”_ _

__At that, Castiel smiles a little wryly, putting his hat in his lap as he relaxes in his seat a little. “There aren’t very many ‘Dean Winchester’s who operate ranches in the country.”_ _

__“How’d you know this is what I’d be doing?” Dean asks, blinking._ _

__“What else would you have done?” Castiel asks simply. His fingers fidget idly with his hat. “This… you said this was what you wanted to be when you grew up. I know you’re not the type to give up on something you believe in.”_ _

__Flushing with pleasure, Dean can’t help the smile that spreads on his lips. “Heh. Well, guess my predictability paid off.” His gaze softens a little, brow furrowing. “I never- I didn’t know your last name, Cas. By the time I got my shit straight…”_ _

__“I’ve been with Sonny all this time,” Castiel says quickly. He lets out a little breath. “Jack and I stayed at the ranch.”_ _

__“Really?” That surprised Dean._ _

__“I suppose you wouldn’t know that,” Castiel says, staring at his hat, “since your grandparents moved after your mother’s death and you never came back.”_ _

__Guilt wracks Dean so hard, he’d be knocked over if he weren’t already sitting down. He knew he should have been looking for Castiel all this time, should have gone back and explained himself, hell, even went back to helping out at the farm. But he’d been tied up with school and uncle Bobby’s garage where he’d been apprenticing as a mechanic. There hadn’t been a day he didn’t think about Castiel with his wildflower eyes and his windswept hair. But life overwhelmed Dean, and as weak of an explanation that may be, he never found his way back to Sonny’s._ _

__“I’m here to let you know,” that deep, rumbly voice, now cavernous with age, “that Sonny’s wake will be in two weeks, held out at the farm on Saturday.”_ _

__Tears burn in Dean’s eyes, though he does his best to not let them fall as he looks up at Castiel. “He passed?”_ _

__Castiel isn’t looking at him when he replies, “Last week. Peacefully, in his sleep. He fell ill a while ago.”_ _

__Nodding even though Castiel can’t see, Dean lets out a breath. He reaches a hand up to scrub at his mouth, then ruffles his still-damp hair in frustration. He’s such a shitty kid. The man who had filled every hole his father shot into his heart is dead and Dean never thanked him or, or…_ _

__“I hope to see you then,” Castiel says, the sound of his jeans sliding on the couch catching Dean’s attention. He stands up, fixing his hat on his head, clearly intent on leaving. “I’ll leave you to your family.”_ _

__“Cas,” he stands up quickly, shooting a hand out to grip Castiel’s sturdy, strong wrist. Castiel sends him a quizzical look, tensing like he wants to pull away, but he stays still, always polite, ready to listen to whatever Dean has to say. A million things race through his mind, words stamped onto his heart for the past fifteen years leap off of the flesh and stamp themselves on his tongue, and yet all that comes out is, “I’m sorry.”_ _

__The slight droop on the outside corners of Castiel’s eyes make him look as wise as Dean always thought him to be. He searches Dean's face for a few moments, then gently pulls his wrist away. The brim of his hat casts shadows over his eyes as he lowers his chin. Dean is taller than him, now, but he feels tiny as Castiel looks at him with a mixture of sadness and finality._ _

__“I am, too. Goodbye, Dean.”_ _

__Castiel leaves. The screen door swings shut, the awful screech of its hinges quiet compared to the thundering of Dean’s heart. He stares blankly at the screen, ears hearing a truck start up and wheels crunching over gravel._ _

__A whirlwind._ _

__Castiel has always been a whirlwind._ _

__A hand rests on Dean’s shoulder._ _

__Sam’s voice gently says, “You ok?”_ _

__Dean lifts both hands to scrub at his face, pressing into his palms for a moment before he pulls them away, white stars dotting his vision as he turns around to head towards the kitchen._ _

__“Peachy.”_ _

__\--_ _

__Sonny’s farm is a six hour drive from Dean’s ranch. He takes the Impala he’d inherited, the only silver lining to his father’s death. He’d packed an overnight bag for the just in case; like, for instance, just in case he feels too emotionally drained from a funeral of a man he considered a father for the few short months he knew him and needs to post up at a local motel. He’s dressed in the only suit he owns; a navy blue getup, slacks and a blazer with a white button-down and beige boots, a black belt to match his rectangular sunglasses that usually end up in the breast pocket. Charlie always said he looked like a movie star whenever he wore it- it felt a little inappropriate for a funeral, but it’s all he had, and he always told himself he’d be a one-suit man._ _

__Besides, Castiel had made it very clear that Dean was invited to the wake, but didn’t seem keen on seeing him outside of it._ _

__The farm isn’t too busy, considering today is the day to celebrate an amazing man. There are half a dozen cars out front. Dean parks among them, leaves his bag in the back seat, then pockets his wallet, keys, and cell phone. The walk up to the porch is achingly familiar. He can hear his mom’s laugh, smell the banana bread, hear the boys yelling in excitement._ _

__Bracing himself, Dean heads up the steps and enters the open door._ _

__He’s immediately hit with a nostalgia that takes his breath away._ _

__He’s been spending the past fifteen years trying to put this place behind him. It all gets unwound, snaps in an instant the second he sees the wallpaper and the scuffs in the hardwood. He almost feels nauseous. He puts a hand on his belly, measures his breathing, and then nearly falls on his face when a strong hand claps him on the back._ _

__“Dean Winchester!” A voice drawls._ _

__Dean knows who it is before he sees him. “Benny-” he can’t help but smile when he straightens. Benny, who is just as burly as his teenage body suggested he would be, and just as grizzly too, hugs Dean so tight he thinks he might pop._ _

__When he pulls away, blue eyes shine as he cuffs Dean on the chin. “Look at you. I was hoping your peak was at fourteen but gawldang, brother, you aged like a fine wine.”_ _

__Laughing, Dean doesn’t even flush as he pushes Benny slightly. He’s heard so many compliments they flow off of him like water nowadays. Being the ‘pretty boy’ in the cowboy circuit lost its novelty about five years ago. “What happened to you?”_ _

__“Marriage” Benny says, beaming. “Got a baby on the way, too.”_ _

__“Ah, so you’re eating for two,” Dean says, patting Benny’s belly._ _

__Benny scowls through his smile, swatting Dean’s hand away. Over his shoulder Dean sees Aaron approaching; he still looks as squirrely as he did as a teen, though he’s taller, his shoulders more straight._ _

__“Dean,” Aaron greets him with a hug, which is returned._ _

__“What’s this?” Dean says, flicking the hat on the crown of Aaron’s head._ _

__“A kippah,” Aaron replies a bit sheepishly. “I uh, y’know. Finished out my summers here, went to college, found religion, yadda yadda.”_ _

__“Hey man,” Dean beams, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s great. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”_ _

__Nodding, Aaron blushes a bit but looks pleased, overall. “I heard you’re operating a ranch out West?”_ _

__“My very own,” Dean confirms. “Kind of a rescue rehab sorta place.”_ _

__“Nice,” Aaron says, his smile growing. “Sonny would be very proud of that.”_ _

__Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean does his best to let disappointment and guilt grip him. “Yeah, I think he would.”_ _

__“Dean?”_ _

__Turning around at the sound of a new voice, Dean looks at the young man in front of him. If it weren’t for his startling blue eyes and the smile on his lips, he wouldn’t recognize him. As it is, Dean knows this is Jack, all grown up, not a snotty nose in sight._ _

__“Heya, buddy,” Dean greets._ _

__Just like he used to when he was a kid, Jack barrels into him. He buries his face into Dean’s chest, hugging him tightly. “Are you wearing cologne?”_ _

__Blushing a little, Dean rubs a comforting hand over Jack’s back. “Probably leftover from whenever I wore this suit last. Don’t wear it often, don’t wash it often.”_ _

__“Right,” Jack pulls away, beaming up at Dean. “It’s good to see you, Dean. We’re all really glad you’re here.”_ _

__There’s a noticeable absence from the welcome committee, but Dean doesn’t comment on it. Instead they all disperse, Dean being introduced to others in the community. Missouri Mosely, who helped Sonny with his homeschool programs; the sheriff Jody Mills and her partner Donna Hanscum; a couple of other men somewhat close to Dean’s age who had apparently cycled in and out of the boy’s home before and after Dean’s time. There’s buffet-style food in the parlor set up on tables that are in place of the furniture, which is all pushed up against the walls._ _

__It’s… nice. Simple and quaint, just as Sonny would have wanted it._ _

__Feeling his chest get tight, Dean makes a swift exit out the back. Once he’s out on the back porch he struggles to breathe. Undoing a few buttons on his shirt, thankful he didn’t wear a tie, Dean makes his way to the corral. He knows Baby won’t be around still, but the comfort of this particular space still overtakes him, helping calm his breathing and quell his racing heart. Uncaring of his fancy clothes, Dean hauls himself up on the corral fence and sits on the top, crossing his ankles to prop them against the board beneath his butt to keep his balance._ _

__The farm still looks the same as when Dean left it. It’s a strange thing, really; the farm seems to be suspended in time, always at the same level of repair and dilapidation. The corral fence needs a good paint job, the tack shed looks like it’s basically been rebuilt at least once. In the distance Dean can see three horse-shaped lumps. He wonders what will happen to the farm now that Sonny is gone._ _

__“Sonny left the farm to me in his will,” Castiel’s voice rumbles from somewhere behind him._ _

__“Jesus!” Dean nearly jolts off of the fence, clutching at his chest and sending Castiel a heated glare. “Wear a bell!”_ _

__Castiel rolls his eyes. He climbs up onto the fence as well. He’s wearing a suit similar to Dean’s, though he’s wearing a skinny black tie and has his blazer buttoned. He situates himself about half a foot away from Dean, hooking his feet on the board below and resting his laced fingers in his lap as he, too, gazes out at the property._ _

__Finally, his words sink in. Dean looks out as well, frowning. “What are you gonna do?”_ _

__“Sell,” Castiel says simply._ _

__Dean throws him a scandalized look. “What?”_ _

__“What can I do?” Castiel asks, meeting Dean’s gaze as cool and calm as ever. “There’s no money coming in. Sonny worked off of donations and the good will of the townspeople. The money dried up before he died. We were struggling for quite some time.” He falls quiet for a moment, returning his gaze to the property. “The horses will be rehabbed, and Jack and I will figure out what to do with ourselves.”_ _

__Dean stares at Castiel in disbelief. He has no idea what it was like here after he left - hell, he can’t fathom - but he had no idea it would lead to Castiel _selling_ the farm. Guilt washes over him anew. He looks out at the field as well, feeling frustrated and flustered and generally anxious. “I’m- I. That’s-” Everything he wants to say gets start-stopped by his anxiety and hundred mile an hour brain. _ _

__“Dean,” Castiel’s hand rests over his on the wood. “You left, and things went on. Sonny knew that this place wouldn’t last.”_ _

__“It wasn’t-” Dean’s fingers flex against the wood, tensing his knuckles against Castiel’s palm. “It wasn’t just the farm that I cared about. Wasn’t just the farm I thought about when I left.” Another silence settles over them. Castiel leaves his hand on Dean’s. When Dean finally feels his heart rate calm and his throat clear, he says softly, “I can take the horses.”_ _

__“You can?” Castiel says. The surprise in his voice hurts._ _

__“Yeah,” Dean replies, pulling his hand away and draping both in his lap. “My place is a rehab rescue. I can take on a few more horses. I always got people contacting me. Plus,” he looks at Castiel out of the corner of his eye, heating up when he sees Castiel already looking at him, “they had you tending to ‘em. They’re basically ready to be relocated to a loving home.”_ _

__“Dean…” Castiel says softly, then clears his throat and straightens. “That would be very lovely. I wouldn’t be comfortable with them going anywhere else.”_ _

__Dean’s knees spread, the right knocking into Castiel’s left. “What about you and Jack? This is your home. If you sell the farm…” he trails off._ _

__“My parents died last year,” the other man says, simply, like he’s describing the weather. “I got a portion of their estate and liquidated it for cash. It wasn’t enough to save the farm, but it will be enough to put first and last down on an apartment for myself and Jack.”_ _

__“In the city?” Dean asks before he thinks, wrinkling his nose. “That’s not you, Cas.”_ _

__“And what other choice do we have?” Castiel asks sharply. He can see something visibly break within his normally strong exterior. “You always had your head in the clouds, Dean. Just because things came to you on a platter doesn’t mean it’s so easy for others.”_ _

__Dean’s jaw snaps shut, his teeth clicking. His voice comes out thick and dangerous, “What did you just say to me?”_ _

__“You heard me,” Castiel replies staunchly. “No matter what happens to or around you, you have always had a support system. No matter what life threw at you and how unfairly you thought you were treated, you were always able to come out on top. You wanted to be a cowboy and your dad said no, so your mom moved you out to the country. Your parents passed away, so your uncle took you in and gave you a place to live. When you became old enough to work, you did, for _money_.” Castiel’s eyes are cold as ice when they turn to Dean. “You went to college and got an education, Dean. What about that sounds like you _didn’t_ have it easy?” _ _

__Anger grips Dean so hard, it explodes out of his hands. He pushes Castiel roughly, knocking him off of the fence and into the dusty corral. He jumps down after him, pushing him again, Castiel’s solid shoulders now barely moving with his feet planted on the ground._ _

__“What the fuck makes you think you can say that?” Dean nearly yells._ _

__The wind kicks up, swirling dust around them._ _

__“Look at you!” Castiel says, gesturing towards Dean. “I had to do research to find you, Dean. You’ve had your ranch for nearly five years and you’re already top-rated in the region. Your cows do _yoga_! You sell their beef at a discount to the butcher who charges an arm and a leg - because he can get away with it - and he returns the profit to you nearly _quadrupled_. You’re not down on your luck, Dean. Shitty things have happened to you, but you can’t tell me that your life sucks.” _ _

__Reaching out, Dean grabs the lapel of Castiel’s blazer, yanking him up onto his toes and pulling him in until they’re nose to nose. “Don’t pin your misery on my success, _Castiel_.” _ _

__Castiel’s hands reach up to grip Dean’s wrists. Both of their breathing is ragged, their eyes blazing with fury. Dean knows what Castiel said is true, but he hasn’t had a silver spoon in his mouth._ _

__“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really mad, huh?” Dean asks, his voice at a lower, more threatening level._ _

__Eyes narrowing dangerously, Castiel’s grip on Dean’s wrists tighten until it hurts. “Enlighten me, Dean.”_ _

__“Your summer tail got taken away from you before you could really enjoy it.”_ _

__The fist cracking into his jaw comes as a huge surprise, because Dean is pretty sure Castiel is still holding both of his wrists. As it is, he’s now convinced Castiel moves like lightning because in one second Dean is standing, and then in the next he’s landing flat on his ass, tailbone smarting and jaw aching. Castiel follows him down, his hands now holding Dean’s lapel, fury in his eyes as his knees dig into the earth between Dean’s legs._ _

__“Do not lessen your meaning to me with such degrading words,” Castiel hisses through clenched teeth._ _

__Dean’s gut drops. His features go slack, eyes widening as he stares up at Castiel._ _

__“And don’t you _dare_ patronize my sexuality in such a vulgar manner,” the other man continues. _ _

__Regret floods his senses so fast he gets dizzy with it. “Cas, I-”_ _

__Furious, Castiel pushes on Dean’s chest at the same time he lets go of his blazer, pushing Dean down into the dirt so hard the breath gets knocked out of him. Castiel then stands, shoulders and knees dusty and dirty, expression murderous._ _

__“This was a mistake,” Castiel finally says, his voice trembling with anger. “I thought you were different, but I see now I was wrong. I apologize for coming back into your life when you clearly didn’t want me to.” Tugging on the bottom of his blazer sharply, the dirt and dust on his shoulders disperse in a cloud. “Goodbye, Dean.”_ _

__Covered from head to toe, chest wheezing and jaw swelling, nothing compares to the pain Dean feels as he watches Castiel walk away from him._ _

__Falling back into the dirt, Dean stares up at the sky he hasn’t seen in over a decade._ _

__He had been given answers he didn’t know he was looking for and still managed to insert his foot so far into his mouth it got stuck in his stomach._ _

__He finally received the goodbye he didn’t get fifteen years ago._ _


	7. Chapter 7

All of Sonny’s farm’s affairs pertaining to his livestock is handled through Jack. He’s all too happy to talk to Dean about the arrangements, though he very carefully does his best to not mention his brother at all. Together they work out a pickup for the horses, the date and everything, and when the day comes, Dean is only slightly disappointed - but not surprised - to see that Castiel isn’t around at all. He and Jack in their two trucks haul the three horses and the chickens back to Dean’s farm, making the transition all in one go over one long, gruesome day.

Back at Dean’s farm, Jack delightedly introduces himself to Sam and Charlie. They both find him adorable, Dean can tell, because Charlie gushes over him and Sam asks him if he wants to help with the vet checks. The kid is twenty-five, same age as Sam, but there he is, getting spoiled like he’s ten again. Dean’s sort of grateful for it. Castiel was an amazing big brother, but he had a different affection for Jack. 

The horses wander from the trailer down the ramp. Dean gets them into the corral, where together he, Sam, and Jack get them all checked out. With a good bill of health Dean sets them off into the pasture, checking measurements of the stables to decide if he should build three more stalls or just create a large, carport-type overhang. Sam makes an old man joke about it, but Dean grumbles he’d rather build the carport anyway because it’d take less time and money. 

As Jack gets ready to leave, Dean sends a Look to Sam, shooing him off so he can talk to Jack alone. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean says as Jack swings into the driver’s seat of his truck. Jack doesn’t shut the door, adjusting in his seat so he can face Dean with a warm smile. “How’s things?” 

“We’re still able to live at the farm until the end of the month,” he says. “Things are ok.”

“How’s-” he takes off his hat, ruffling his hair and avoiding Jack’s gaze. “How’s Cas?”

“Very unhappy,” Jack says plainly. Dean whips his head up so he can look at the other man’s features. “Dean, I don’t know what happened between you two, but…” he looks like he knows he shouldn’t say the following words, but he does anyway, “He’s been waiting to see you again. Ever since the day you left. But when he saw your wife, he-”

“Wait-” Dean holds up a hand, frowning deeply. “My wife?”

“Charlie,” Jack says simply.

“Oh my God.” Dean pales, putting a hand on the open door to steady himself. “He thinks Charlie is my _wife_?” 

“She’s not?” Jack asks, confused. 

“No, man!” Something terribly anxious and dreadful spirals out of control in his gut. “She’s my best friend!” 

“Oh,” understanding dawns on Jack’s face, which quickly turns to concern. “ _Oh_ -” 

“Take me back with you,” Dean demands, pushing at Jack’s knees to get him to sit proper. Once he does, Dean slams the door of the old Ford and then rounds the hood of it, hauling himself up into the passenger seat. 

Jack turns the engine, grinning. 

\--

Those were easily the worst six hours of Dean’s life. Between lamenting verbally to Jack about how much of an idiot he is and beating himself up mentally, Dean’s in a right state when they pull up to the farmhouse. He practically throws himself out of the truck. He’s already been awake for eighteen hours, here before the sunrise to get the animals and now back after sunset with work in between; he’s exhausted physically, and now emotionally. He runs up the front steps, Jack trailing behind him, then lets himself into the house.

It’s been three weeks since the wake. The house is exactly as Sonny had left it, not a thing out of place. It still feels like _home_ , overwhelmingly so. Dean doubles over, exhausted and hit with the feelings, panting at his knees before he straightens.

“Cas!” 

From upstairs comes the soft sound of bare feet padding over the floor. At the top of the staircase stands Castiel, wearing flannel pajama pants and a loose, worn t-shirt, his hair ruffled like he’d been woken up and some lines imprinted on his face from bed sheets. He looks adorably sleepy and confused. Dean doesn’t even bother to kick off his dirty boots or pat down his shirt and pants; he takes the stairs two at a time, Castiel backing away from him cautiously. Last time they moved this quickly they were coming to blows. 

“Dean-?” 

“Cas,” Dean pants out once he reaches the landing. He takes off his hat, holding it over his heart as he searches Castiel’s features. “Tell me I ain’t wrong.”

“About what?” Castiel asks, grumpy and puzzled, eyes and features finally starting to wake up. “Why are you here?” 

“Tell me you had feelings for me when we were kids,” Dean continues, the pleading tone of his voice wavering slightly.

“I-” Looking rather alarmed, Castiel doesn’t move away from Dean, instead letting his eyes dance over Dean’s face. “I hardly see why that’s relevant right now.” 

“‘Cause you knocked me out in the corral,” Dean says, dropping his hat and reaching forward to grip Castiel’s shoulders, his hat tumbling down the stairs. “‘Cause I’m a fucking idiot and I been waiting for you all these years instead of swallowing my pride and going after _you_.” 

Now Castiel is looking at him like he’s crazy, but he’s still not pulling away.

“‘Cause you’re wildflowers and the sky and the blue mountains in the morning, you’re everything beautiful about this place and I never told you,” Dean continues, emboldened, feeling his heart take off like a jaybird into the breeze. “‘Cause every boy that came here had a story, Cas, and you were part of mine.” 

Those pretty blue eyes start to glisten as Castiel absorbs Dean’s words. He licks his dry, pink lips, eyes darting back and forth between Dean’s. “If you don’t mean what you’re saying, Dean Winchester, I will knock you right down these stairs.” 

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, now with more emotion than the sorry excuses of sorry’s he’s ever given Castiel. “I’m sorry you went through all of this on your own. I’m sorry I never reached out to you when I was the one who had all the means to do so. I’m sorry it’s come down to you losing the farm and everything you know, and I-” he squeezes Castiel’s shoulders warmly, affectionately. “I’m sorry it took me this long to invite you to come stay out at my ranch.”

“You’re offering me a job,” Castiel says dryly, his eyes welling as his jaw ticks and his lips try not to smile. 

“I could pay you,” Dean says with a breathless laugh, “but I’d rather you be there ‘cause you wanna… be with me.” 

Castiel’s eyes dart over his face in the same exact way his mother’s used to. 

_I’m looking at your freckles_ , she’d say. _I’m looking at your cute nose and the way your lips bow. I’m looking at your adorable chin and I’m looking at me, reflected in your eyes. I’m looking at the way I love you, Dean Henry Winchester._

Tears leak out of Dean’s eyes, fat and hot as they roll down his cheeks. Castiel raises his hands to them, big, calloused palms soft and tender as salt water soaks into his skin. 

“Don’t leave again,” Castiel says softly. 

Shaking his head, Dean can’t trust any words as he sees his mother reflected in Castiel’s eyes, wildflowers and rolling hills and buttery soft sunshine. Very slowly Castiel leans in, pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead in a soft, safe kiss. 

This is what he’s meant to do.

This is where he’s meant to be.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunlight streams through the bedroom window, the curtains left open from the night before. It’s just how Dean likes; waking up with the sun, feeling the rays on his face. He imagines it’s his mom stroking his cheek, sometimes, when she used to wake him up for school and trick him into getting out of bed in exchange for bacon. There wasn’t always bacon, because mom was a better baker than chef, but there were always hugs and butt-pats as she sent Dean and Sam off to school for the day.

These days, beams of sunlight turn into stubbly kisses pressed wherever they can reach. Castiel’s arm slings over his waist, drawing him into his chest, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Kissing the knob of Dean’s spine, Castiel rumbles a ‘good morning’ into his hair. Their bodies lazily move together for a few beats, Dean’s mind clearing of everything save for wild hair and blue eyes. 

Rolling over in the other man’s embrace, Dean greets him with a proper morning kiss, slow and unhurried. Naked, their hands rove over each other. Quiet and gentle, they share strokes and squeezes, panting and huffing, skin flushing and sweat breaking out as they bring each other to a satisfying release.

“Good morning,” Dean finally says, voice much more clear and awake than Castiel’s.

“Mmm,” Castiel hums, lifting his sticky fingers to Dean’s mouth. He presses them past his lips, watching as Dean licks them clean. “Do you think Sam took all of the hot water?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He nips at Castiel’s fingertip. “But that’s alright. You can warm me back up afterwards, huh?”

“No,” Castiel says, sitting up. The sunbeams hit his tan skin, bathing him in gold, highlighting his chest hair and nipples. “But I can help you get back at Sam.” 

“That’s a man after my heart,” Dean says, reaching up to pull Castiel back down under the covers. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” 

“Occasionally,” Castiel murmurs, pulling the covers over their heads to hide their kisses from the world. 

Wildflowers and rolling hills and summer breezes, Dean sees himself reflected in Castiel’s eyes. Noticing Dean looking, Castiel says softly, “I’m looking at the way I love you.”


End file.
